The Line
by Furiyan
Summary: Jack thought he'd left the team behind him. Thought he'd left her, and his heartbreak, behind him. Turns out, the past is not always in the past. Rated M for adult language, naughty themes, and some pretty graphic descriptions of violence and blood.
1. Chapter 1

" _The Line"_

The moment Jack steps into the restaurant was the moment he wants to be far, _far_ away from the godforsaken place.

See, it wasn't exactly his choice to be there. It's a nice enough place, sure, with its decor, photographs and colourful items of cultural significance reflecting the Italian delicacies which the restaurant served. Jack had eaten there a few times, and the gnocchi was second to none.

No, the problem started with the manner of his journey - against his will. See, his final words to the team of heroes who called themselves The Line were that he'd never come back, not even if he was dragged, kicking and screaming.

Which was exactly what Merida, known to the city as Red Arrow, had done - minus the kicking and screaming. A paralytic-stun arrow to the chest as he soared over the city in search of ne'er-do-wells had seen to that. Throw in the sack into which she stuffed his paralysed body and the van into which she'd stuffed _that,_ and whatever remained of his dignity had gone with the wind.

Assuming he even had any. Being a superhero… dignity is usually the first thing you lose. Ask Superman's underpants.

So it isn't the restaurant's fault he is squeezing his staff hard enough to break it, and seriously considering freezing Merida's feet to the floor. No, it's the people _in_ it, sat at an opulently arranged table in the corner under an impressive painting of a waterway in Venice, secluded by currently opened curtains. The _only_ people in the damn place, aside from the restaurant staff.

A low growl conveys his displeasure. "The hell is this?"

"Moonlight!" The brown, shaggy-haired man rises to his feet, his welcoming grin undone by the apprehension in his eyes. "Glad you could make it."

Something inside him seethes at the overly jovial tone to the man's voice. "I didn't have a choice, Night Fury, and I'm gonna ask again: what the hell is this?"

Night Fury casts a wary glance at the other occupant of the table, who does her best to avoid Jack's gaze. He knows all too well the blonde hair, upright stature and the way she fiddles with her fingers whenever the atmosphere grows tense. He knows how she'd hurt him.

"It's a meeting, dude." Night Fury makes a gesture of opening his arms. "It's a meeting of The Line."

Jack stares at him for a few moments, before snorting his utter disdain. "No way. I told you before, I want nothing to do with any of you."

"It's not them with whom you want nothing to do, Jack," the woman speaks, still intently looking away thus heightening Jack's ire, "and while I understand your anger-"

"Don't bullshit me, Elsa," Jack snaps. "I don't need your bullshit sympathy - what I do need is for all of you to leave me the fuck alone."

With that, Jack turns to storm out… except Merida stands in the doorway, barring his exit. Issuing her a hearty scowl, he tries to move past her, only for her to sidestep into his path.

Jack exhales a long breath, drawing himself to his full height and glares down at her. "Step off, Red."

Merida tenses, and slowly shakes her head, sky-blue eyes flashing. She isn't called Defiant for nothing. "No, laddie. Ye need ta hear this."

"No, I don't. I don't care what's going on, I don't care about this secret little meeting Fury's got going on," he gestures behind him. "I'm done with the Line - so get the hell out of my way."

Merida lifts her chin. Jack tries once again to move past her, only for her to sidestep into his path and roughly push him back.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he growls.

Merida snorts, and her red curls sway to one side as she points to her cheek. "Yer first punch was free, on account ye probably thought I was a bad guy 'cause o' the manner I brought ye here. But trust me, laddie-" she squares up to him, hostile defiance radiating from her entire being, "-next one, I'll start hittin' ye back."

Jack leans down, eyes narrowing into sapphire slits. "Then put your money where your big mouth is, and take a swing."

"Guys!"

Jack turns his head the slightest inch toward Night Fury though ensures he meets Merida glare-for-glare, and tenses his body in preparation for a brawl.

"What's wrong with you? We used to be a team… we kicked bad guy ass together!"

"That was a long time ago, Fury," Jack calls back. "The Line is dead, now. Only good thing being in a team did for me is remind me why I work better alone."

"Jack, please," Elsa speaks up, "we need to talk. It's important you listen."

Jack snorts bitterly. "The last time someone told me ' _we need to talk'_ was the night I realised I can't trust anyone."

"Who told you that?"

"None of your goddamn business, flyboy."

"Look," Elsa persists, "when you left, it wasn't on the best of terms. I understand that - but we brought you here because you _need_ to hear what we have to say. This concerns a threat to the city… to us _all._ Something is coming, Jack, and I don't know what's going to happen when it's here."

For the first time since he'd turned to leave, he looked back at the table. Night Fury leans with his fingers splayed across the table's surface, while Elsa had rounded it proper to look - _actually look -_ at him. Her aquamarine-blue eyes stare at him imploringly, at odds with the authoritative frown cutting across her features. At one stage in his life, Jack enjoyed getting under her bossy skin to the kind, gentle woman underneath… but no more.

Jack chews at his lip while he gave each of them a look. Whatever it is, it's important enough for Merida to bodily drag his obstinate ass to the restaurant. Concerning enough to warrant bringing the team back together.

Not enough for him.

"I'm sure between the world's best archer, who could put an arrow in your eye without even looking-"

He gestures to Night Fury, "-the guy who has more gadgets than Batman, and who rides a fucking _dragon-"_

His eyes linger on Elsa for a few moments, "-and the avatar of winter itself, you can handle any threat coming your way. Whatever comes at me, I'll handle it alone. I just wanna go back home and protect my streets."

"Jack, I really think-"

Jack rounds on her. "I don't give a rat's ass what you think, Elsa. You always made decisions for everyone else without their input - well, this time, you don't get to do that. Whatever you guys are teaming up for, leave me out of it. I'm gone."

He turns back to Merida. "Last chance, Red. Move, or be moved."

Merida's eyes slowly move to her right, undoubtedly fixing themselves upon Elsa for guidance. The silent response must be a nod, as the redhead lets out a loud huff, whispers, " _arsehole,"_ and stands aside, her emerald velvet trenchcoat swishing with the movement. Seizing his chance to not be hit by another stun arrow, Jack roughly bashes open the side door to the restaurant.

The cool night air kisses at his skin like an old friend, sending satisfying tingles through every part it touches. He hates being inside, being constrained. Open air means freedom, a clear canvas on which his flights paint. Closing his eyes, he lets out a long breath that carries away the tension and anger, leaving behind an odd sense of guilt.

Is he doing the right thing? Sure, the Line used to be the super team of superheroes. Moonlight, with his mastery over winter's fury. Night Fury, soaring overhead on the back of his dragon Toothless saving lives with his gadgets and gizmos. Red Arrow, able to put an arrow in a bad guy's head from amazing distances with no effort.

Snow Queen, with powers of ice and snow, able to conjure breathtaking structures and objects of pure ice - amongst many, many other talents - and dismantle them as quickly as they came. His heart still aches at her name, her scent, her _voice,_ even all those years on.

He emits a small growl and shakes his head clear of the nostalgia. The Line is nothing more than a memory, ancient history he'd rather forget. A call back to happier times that no longer existed, when four very different personalities worked well together for the greater good, ushering a new age of safety and security for the people of Arendelle City. Now, the city is the safest it has ever been - so a super-team was pointless.

No. His streets call him home, the streets which he protects and watches over. The Spirit of Burgess, they call him. Children would call his name with excited cheers as he swooped overhead. He'd throw them a mischievous grin and a wave, and call down half an hour's worth of heavy snowfall in which for them to play.

He's already been away for too long, he decides. Jack pulls the hood of his sweater over his head and walks on through shimmering pools of murky yellow, preparing to take flight. So wrapped up is he in his thoughts of home, and the possibility of visiting his family's graves, he misses the click of the door behind him.

"Jack!"

Her voice roots him to the spot.

Elsa.

Slowly, he turns his head over his shoulder to look at her. There she is, her shimmering blonde hair flawed by the artificial suns of the streetlights, eyes gazing at him through a frown of uncertainty, lips twisting and flexing like they hide a thousand words. Her hands hang loosely at her sides, her body wrapped in a long, high collared, grey trench coat. He loved her, once. Maybe he still does. Maybe that's why it hurts so much to look at her.

She gazes at him, their eyes meeting, conveying years of racing heartbeats and tender kisses, of fingers entwined and the mutual moaning of names. The battles they fought side by side, the way their powers complemented each other. Jack's heart thumps with a dull ache. He watches her, and she him, silent, waiting.

The roar of a truck engine approaches and passes along the distant street, throwing puddles of rainfall over the sidewalk. Elsa blinks - and the moment ceases.

"It's…" she struggles to speak in a cracked voice, "it's good to see you again, Jack."

Face relaxing, his eyes linger on her for a few moments, before they slowly fall, and move with his head as it turns away from her. Maybe it is good, for her, to see him again. Maybe she does miss him, or did, once upon a time.

It doesn't matter anymore. Without a word, he summons the wind to carry him into the black sky overhead, leaving Elsa, and The Line, behind him.

Where they belong.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Here is the first of seven.**

 **Let me know what you think, and I hope you all have a good week ahead!**


	2. Chapter 2

" _The Line 2"_

Unfortunately for him, as he notices the small but regular disturbance rippling through the Burgess air while he soars over the twinkling lights of the district's nightlife, his past seemingly does not want to be left in the past.

A good two hours after the so-called meeting, and Jack had spent most of his time soaring over the Burgess district's ochre-lit streets, watching over its citizens and keeping a vigilant eye out for any signs of disturbance. There'd been a few attempted muggings here and there; an attempted rape in the park he'd prevented by dragging the guy through the air by his feet, dropping him only to catch him a few feet above the ground…

...admittedly for Jack's personal sadistic pleasure more than anything else…

...and then freezing the would-be rapist's hands to a park bench along with his feet, leaving him in a questionable position for when the cops arrived. Jack had stayed with the victim, who'd understandably been too much in shock to be talk, but when the cops did arrive and took statements, the senior uniform figured the guy would be seeing serious time considering, ' _not only was there a witness, but the witness was goddamn Moonlight himself'._

So all in all, a productive few hours had left Jack in a fairly buoyant mood and all but erased the tension and heartache left behind from the so-called meeting. From _her._

Until he felt the beat of wings sending waves through the air, of course.

"Yo, Moonlight!"

The dirty yellow lights of the district's industrial warehouses pass under him like a lazily moving carpet as Jack looks over his shoulder, and notices the obsidian black, scaly, winged form that could only belong to Toothless approaching behind from Jack's left, with his leather armor-clad rider waving cheerily at him.

In many ways, Toothless reminds Jack of himself. Years of battles and witnessing the depths of human depravity had left the creature with a jaded and cynical disposition, with the occasional moment of excitement and childish wonder. Sometimes looking at Toothless was like looking into a mirror, and there was a good part of Jack that didn't like the image reflected back at him. Another reason leaving the Line felt like the best decision at the time.

"Wait up!"

Jack turns his gaze back to the world ahead, and calls out in a loud groan of exasperation, "What do you want, Fury?"

The answer comes back at his side - Jack isn't surprised in the slightest. In a straight race, Toothless far outmatched Jack where speed was concerned. "We haven't seen each other for a long time, I thought we could hang out!"

Yet another reason leaving was the best thing in his mind. Toothless was faster than him. Red Arrow was far more accurate, bordering on the insane. Snow Queen could do everything he could do, but better. There was always this pervasive feeling he was the third wheel, an extraneous part to an already well-functioning machine. When Elsa then told him they were over, it just proved his suspicion that, amidst such power?

He simply wasn't good enough. Surplus to requirements.

 _(though he was never sure if that related to the Line, or to her.)_

"What, like we're old friends?" Jack drawled. "Go home, Fury. Not interested."

Hiccup, to his credit, is a persistent little shit. Always possessing an optimistic, upbeat outlook bordering on the naïve, at odds with Merida's serious, dour disposition, he treated the hero thing as a responsibility to do good in the world.

Unlike Jack and Merida, though, who took up the mantle because shit needed doing and no-one else would.

"Not even for a mint choc ice cream milkshake?"

He's also a sneaky little shit.

At that, Jack is betrayed by both his tastebuds and his stomach. He slows his flight just enough to give the rider a good look - sure enough, Hiccup's holding up the lid of a satchel strapped to Toothless's side, and two of the largest takeout flasks Jack has ever seen poke out from the satchel's mouth.

He could fly on. Dwell further in his self-imposed isolation, but…

...mint chocolate ice cream milkshake.

Hiccup's probably smirking behind his mask.

Jack huffs. "Fine," he groans.

They park up on the roof of a twenty storey high rise; perfect for watching the city go by from a metaphysical, abstract-from-reality standpoint. Jack perches with his feet dangling off the raggedy edge, watching the million stars of the city switch on and off in the distance.

Arendelle City, whether he likes it or not, is a part of him. Its streets are his veins, the people his blood, the blinking lights are the myriad synapses firing. He wonders whether, if it breathes as he breathes, it grieves as he does.

Hiccup sends Toothless off on a lazy patrol, ostensibly for buddy-buddy time with his once-comrade, and Jack banishes the whimsical thought from his mind. It's a city, just a collection of concrete buildings, glass windows, and people going about their daily business. No more sentient than a potato.

Jack automatically stiffens as he hears the shuffle of Hiccup sitting beside him, though accepts the takeout flask with greedy hands.

As he grips the ice cold plastic cup, however, an odd sense of familiarity compels him to turn it in his fingers, and when his eyes zero in on the bulbous raptor-like head sporting pointy teeth and quills, and the name _Stormfly's Shakes and Cakes,_ he realises.

It _has_ been a long time.

 _Stormfly's_ was where the Line would swing by after every successful victory, no matter how small. It was tradition

… and in Jack's hands is his favourite milkshake.

"I didn't know they still opened at this time," he murmurs, voice only just audible above the sounds of cars passing to and fro below them.

"They don't - but Astrid opened up especially for me." Hiccup's voice is far too casual for Jack's liking. "Considering that as of an hour ago, I own the place."

Jack shoots him a half-unimpressed, half-surprised look, though he doesn't know why he expects any different. Being the heir to a multi-million dollar technology industry must be nice, if you can go and buy independent places on a whim.

" _What."_ It's a simplistic reply with a thousand and one household uses, and is all Jack manages.

"Yeah, but Astrid drives a hard bargain, let me tell you. I own the place but she's in control of everything, I paid her rent six months in advance, and she charged me extra for the milkshakes 'cause of having to reopen the place and clean the machines. Oh, and she also wanted my number." Hiccup takes a deep mouthful of his milkshake, ostensibly his favourite chocolate fudge flavour, swallows and gestures to Jack's flask.

"What you're holding might be the most expensive ice cream milkshake in the history of milkshakes."

Jack shoots a wary, slightly wide-eyed look at the flask in his hands, and for a few moments debates _not_ drinking it in favour of cryofreezing it and placing it on a pedestal in his apartment. His sudden craving reminds him of the stupidity of the idea, and he takes a gentle sip through the straw.

It's every bit as good as he remembers. The ice cream sends shivers through his entire body, kickstarting his senses with the minty chocolate taste that has his tastebuds in heaven. For a few, happy seconds, he's walking down Nostalgia Lane with a smile and a spring in his step.

Until the sour aftertaste ruins it all - and it's _not_ from the milkshake.

Jack's smile falls to a thin line, and suddenly the delicious drink isn't so delicious. He lets out a long sigh through his nose, and feels a painful twinge in his heartstrings when the image of a giggling Elsa with chocolate ice cream on her nose crosses his mind's eye. He puts the flask on the brick edge of the building, far enough so any wild gestures won't give anyone below him a surprise milky shower, and shoots a raised eyebrow at Hiccup when the air is filled with slurping and uncomfortably loud gulps.

Shaking his head - seriously, the company he keeps - he returns his eyes to the starlit night where artificial glimmers meet celestial twinkles, trying to ignore the rather pronounced smacking of lips so he doesn't punch Hiccup _in them._ The two men sit in contemplative silence, with Jack wondering what is the point of anything, and Hiccup undoubtedly imagining his next gadget for incapacitating good-for-nothing mooks.

"Hey," Hiccup says after a time, jerking Jack from his place of thought, "you remember that guy we took down? The one who was using illegals to process and distribute his heroin?"

Jack remembers him all to well.

"What was his name… Hank? Henry… Heisenberg?"

"Hans," Jack corrects him in a flat tone.

There's a click of fingers. "Hans! That's the guy. Philanthropic, charity-donating and all around good guy on the outside, psychopath on the inside."

He's not wrong. In the media and in person, Hans was the kind of man who would help without a second thought, who donated to several good causes and regularly threw fundraising events for politicians and police brass alike. Behind closed doors, however, according to the trial, he was an amoral, power-obsessed tyrant who enjoyed destroying people's lives with his cheap heroin. Of course, the law couldn't directly tie him to any of his misdealings, not to mention his connections, so in the end a detective by the name of Wilde had dropped the case file in Hiccup's lap - on the proviso he got full credit for the break of the case.

One visit from Jack and Hiccup had Hans walking into the police precinct, white as a sheet, clutching a bag of evidence and asking to speak to Detective Wilde.

"You remember what we did to him?"

"Yep." Jack's lips tug on one side into a tired half-smile, and he lets out a weary chuckle, staring off into the distance. "We took turns flying him up, dropping and catching him."

"Yeah, dude. Told him we'd stop if he promised to hand himself over to the authorities - and we'd be back if he didn't follow up."

Jack makes a noncommittal hum.

"Good times, dude. Good times."

The aftermath wasn't so pleasant. Faced with the realisation that their sizable donations were more than likely proceeds of Hans' narcotics enterprise, dozens of charities were confronted with the moral dilemma of what to do with, essentially, tainted money. Jack supposed it was Hans' last way to fuck with people even after he was locked up.

Until a new charity was formed, one dedicated to rehabilitating the victims of Hans' heroin and helping the families of those victims. All the tainted money went to that charity, known as Belle's View, and one by one every single addict had a new lease of life.

It's a victory Jack holds close to his heart for a few reasons. You could bust up supervillains all the live long day, but those kind of victories are what matter.

It's also the day he kissed Elsa for the first time… and she kissed back.

"I'm not coming back, Hiccup," Jack addresses the elephant on the rooftop. His name is Steve.

"Why not?" Hiccup spreads his free hand. "We did so much good as a team."

"Yeah, but that's over now. Hell, Merida once said I wasn't team material."

"I didn't know that…"

"Mmmhm." Jack shrugs. "Apparently I'm cocky, immature, I don't play well with others."

" _That_ I did know. Bit of a pot-kettle thing coming from _Merida_ , of all people."

"Yeah, well, she was right." Jack sighs, and rolls onto his hip to stand. "I'm better off alone. Thanks for the milkshake."

He turns away, and bends to pick up his staff. The moment his fingers lace around the ice-reinforced wood, however, Hiccup reminds him to add ' _astute little shit'_ to the list of _Annoying Things That Make Me Want To Punch Hiccup._

"Why did Elsa break up with you?"

Jack's heart skips a beat, and his breath catches in his throat. Stupid Hiccup. Stupid Jack for being so goddamn obvious.

"None of your business, Hiccup," Jack says in a warning voice, burning a hole in the rooftop with his eyes.

"I mean," Hiccup continues, completely ignoring him, "one day you were both in love. Next day, you couldn't stand to be in the same room together. Why?"

"We were together, then she decided we weren't. That's all you need to know, Hiccup. Drop it."

"C'mon dude, there's gotta be a reason. Relationships don't end just like that."

"You _have_ seen celebrity marriages, haven't you?"

"I mean-" Hiccup continues his brazen ignorance of both tact and Jack's rising temper - the chilly wind whipping around them is usually enough warning, "-you and Elsa being in love… the Line was the stronger for it. I just wanna—"

Jack rounds on him, his eyes widening and body tensed with the spillover of his frustration. He snaps before he can check himself. "For the last time, Fury, drop it! Elsa and I are over, okay?! The Line is _over!"_

The way Hiccup flinches, his face wearing an expression like Jack just slapped him in it, adds a heavy measure of guilt and self-admonition to the chaos of emotions swirling in Jack's heart. It's not his fault. None of it is.

Sighing, Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, and wishes he'd kept on flying. It would have been _so_ much simpler - being alone usually was. "I know what you're trying to do, Hiccup," he speaks, his attempt to even his tone resulting in a weary, exasperated voice, "but it's not going to happen. The Line… it was fun while it lasted. We did do some good. But it's over now, in the past. The Line is dead, Hiccup. Leave it where it belongs… in the ground."

He pulls an Elsa and avoids Hiccup's eyes, turning away as he prepares to take flight. Away from Hiccup, away from the Line. Away from everything. "But if you really want the team together, do it. Just leave me out of it. You'd be better for it."

His knees bend in the customary pre-takeoff manner, and the wind begins to whip and hammer at his legs. Couple more seconds and he's running again. Where it's safe.

Until Hiccup freezes him in his tracks.

"What _happened_ to you, Jack?"

Whether it's the tension on the rooftop so thick you could cut it with a knife, or the maelstrom of memories or emotions coursing through him like an unstoppable tidal wave is anyone's guess, but it's enough to push Jack over the edge. He whirls around to face his ex-comrade, spreads his arms wide, and the dam holding it all back, breaks.

"What happened? I saw the light. I realised the truth - I'm just a spare tire. I didn't really matter - it just took the breakup with the love of my life to give me clarity."

Hiccup rises to his feet, his jaw loosened with the frown of disbelief. Jack closes his lips, resigning the pain throbbing in his head, his heart, his veins, everywhere. "You don't need me," he sighs. "You never did."

To Jack's surprise, Hiccup's face morphs from skeptical confusion to deep incredulity, like Jack just uttered the stupidest thing in the world. "Is _that_ what you think? That you weren't good enough?"

The rider throws his hands into the air before settling them on his hips, pacing a few steps left and right. Jack automatically prepares to dive off the roof since some of those paces takes Hiccup perilously close to the edge.

"I swear to God, I'm so tired of being the last to know! Seriously, Jack, you can be _such_ an idiot sometimes! God, if you only knew why the team broke up!"

Something in Jack bristles at Hiccup's rant. Perhaps it's the lack of understanding, or the highly _un_ characteristic frustration radiating from Hiccup's entire being… or the feeling his long-standing beliefs are being belittled. "Excuse me, I'm the idiot?! The team broke up because—"

Hiccup rounds on him, advancing so closely with such an expression of anger that the words die in Jack's throat. "Because _you_ left!" he snaps, voice bordering on hysterics, "You left, and the team fell apart, and I tried so _fucking_ hard to hold it all together, but it was like nobody cared and—"

Hiccup's lips clamp shut, though they're visibly chewed to death by his teeth, and his eyes radiate the kind of fire only Toothless could muster. Making a harsh grunt, Hiccup whips around, one hand resting on the back of his head while the other sits on his hip.

And Jack? All traces of the emotional maelstrom are gone, leaving him in a state of shock. For the first time in forever, he's speechless.

When Hiccup next speaks, his voice loses all trace of his prior anger, carrying instead a muted, resigned tone to it that hurts Jack almost as much as the anger. "When you left, it was like someone had reached in and torn the life right out of us. Elsa stopped laughing, stopped smiling… stopped _talking._ Merida was pissed off, like, twenty-four-seven, and she argued with Elsa more times than I can count. Me? I lost my best friend."

Jack's hands hang loosely at his sides, and his head bows, guilt raging through him. He didn't know, didn't _think._ All he wanted was to be away from the pain, away from the ice-blue eyes he _thought_ loved him back.

Hiccup turns to face him, his eyes shimmering red in the reflected city lights. The lump in Jack's throat stills all words; all he can do is stand there.

"My dad once told me a team is like a body… and he was right. Elsa was the brains of the team. Merida the eyes; I was the hands. But you?"

Hiccup gestures lamely in Jack's direction. "You were the _heart._ Know what happens to the body when the heart is ripped out?"

Slowly, avoiding Hiccup's eyes, Jack nods. It's all he can do.

The hands of the Line lets out an uncomfortably loud, long breath through his nose. Jack's ears are the unwilling recipient of a piercing whistle, and a few seconds later, wind from the regular beat of wings rushes through Jack's hair. Turning away, Hiccup picks up his milkshake and slots it into the satchel on Toothless' side without a word, and clambers up to sit on his back. He adjusts himself for a few moments, before turning to look at Jack with a challenging gaze.

"I don't know why Elsa dumped you. She must have had her reasons, and knowing Elsa, they made sense to her. But this darkness, this evil that's coming, Jack… it's coming for us all. So you need to decide what's worth more to you - your city… or your pride."

The last thing Hiccup says before taking flight back to the city is that, when he makes up his mind, he'll know where to find them, leaving a dumbfounded Jack to stare at Toothless' shrinking form for the few seconds before pitch black scales melted into obsidian sky.

He'd never seen Hiccup flip out like that before. Ever. Even with the most frustrating villains, he always managed to keep a cool head and a positive outlook. Maybe there were people more invested in the team's existence than Jack was, and when he left with neither explanation nor debate, his petty revenge in doing the same thing to Elsa as she did to him, it occurs to him that he didn't consider who else it would affect.

Letting out a long breath, Jack bows his head and rubs at the skin of his forehead with his finger and thumb. Half of him wants to take to the skies and follow Hiccup; the other half, the one that has protected and comforted him for so long wants to take to the skies and pretend nothing happened.

The decision he comes to is that he _can't_ decide right now. His mind is too full of voices pulling him this way and that, his heart brimming with chaotic emotions clouding his judgment. So he takes to the skies, anyway, if only to clear his head… but not before picking up his milkshake.

Elsa always said cooler heads prevailed.

He wonders how much that advice, coming from her, is worth.

* * *

It's coming up to midnight when Jack pushes open the glass door to the very same Italian restaurant he'd walked out of a few hours ago, and recoils in surprise when he notices something off about it.

The restaurant is _full._ Dozens of conversations assault his ears at the same time, and the delicious scents of Italian cooking overwhelm his senses. There really shouldn't be customers in here at midnight.

"Yo, Moonlight!"

Jack's eyes immediately flick to the source of the voice catching his attention: Hiccup, waving cheerily from the table in the far left corner, partially obscured by crimson, half-pulled curtains. Merida sits at his right, throwing daggers with her eyes, and Elsa sits at his left… smiling?

Puzzled, Jack lets the door close behind him and navigates his meandering way through the two dozen tables in his path, swerving once to avoid a well-dressed man with slicked back hair, who seems to _really_ like the colour black, talking to the customers at each table.

Once within earshot of the team, Jack thumbs behind him. "What's all this?"

"Part of the deal I have with the owner to keep this place open a few hours longer," Hiccup shrugs. "I paid his rent six months ahead, and had to advertise about the late opening on my Twitter."

Jack draws the curtains closed, pulls up the closest chair, and parks his tired ass. "Hence the full-to-capacity restaurant."

"Indeed," Elsa adds. "As it turns out, a tweet from a famous superhero can be quite the endorsement."

Especially one with as cavalier an attitude to a secret identity as Hiccup - though he did once say if any bad guys think he's any less dangerous outside of his costume than in, they'd realise their mistake very, _very_ quickly.

"If I hafta sign one more autograph," states Merida, her words muffled partly by the red bandana across her mouth from her nose down, "I'm gonna deck someone."

Jack opens his mouth to query the surreal nature of Hiccup's explanation, but the arrival of four plates on the table served by the manager himself puts paid to that. All he can manage is a bemused, "The hell?"

Hiccup winces. "This… this is the other part of the deal - I had to order from the VIP menu for all of us."

"I'm not here to eat," Jack says flatly, even though the ravioli before him has _no_ right to smell that good. "I'm here to find out what the hell is going on and put a stop to it so I can get on with my life."

"Arsehole," Merida mutters.

"Bitch," Jack snarks back, earning a wry look and sly smirk from the redhead. At least, he _hopes_ it's a smirk, judging by the crinkling of her eyes.

"I know, but… for what it's worth," Hiccup smiles, "I'm glad you're here."

Merida gives him a cocked eyebrow and a thin-lipped, unmoved expression. "I'm not hugging."

"Neither am I." Jack folds his arms. "So, what's this all about, so we can get it over with?"

Elsa takes a deep breath, lacing her fingers together on the table, and part of Jack wants to vacate the premises.

"The darkness… goes by a name. The Nightmare King."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **2/7**

 **I forgot to add in the last chapter: if you're feeling frisky, check out the opening credits for The Defenders on Youtube. Then imagine instead of Daredevil, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage and Iron Fist, you've got the characters above.**

 **Now, Antha has raised an interesting point and one that has had me thinking for a while. I do write Elsa as the one who, in the past has caused, or is the cause of, conflicts that need to be resolved. I can name three off the top of my head right now. That is something I am looking at changing.**

 **However, my reasoning more or less stems from the knowledge that 9 out of 10 (statistics pulled out of My Ass Inc. all rights reserved, consult physician if experiencing adverse effects) conflicts that need to be resolved or mistakes made are caused by Jack. I read a story, heavily based on an story arc of a popular sitcom, where Jack cheated on Elsa. There were more chapters than I have fingers where the story reminded us of that fact, whether by Elsa's thoughts and conversations or another character's. However, there was literally one paragraph in the entire story which then tells us, near the end, that Elsa was as much responsible for the downfall of their relationship as he was. Certainly, he cheated on her - but she completely neglected the relationship in favour of her work to the point she was missing their romantic dates and their anniversary dinner. Jack was isolated, alone, and basically felt like Elsa had forgotten him. Then comes the situation where he misreads the presence of a friend from work at their apartment, one I'm pretty sure has the hots for Elsa, and ends up coming to completely the wrong conclusion. Don't get me wrong, it's a great story - but the lion's share of guilt, shame and general responsibility for the relationship's breakup was thrown at Jack, when in reality, Elsa did just as much to destroy it as he did. She only did it a _lot_ slower.**

 **In another story, Jack was portrayed as a deadbeat dad who is basically the kind of guy you find on Maury, Jeremy Kyle, Jerry Springer, etc. That isn't Jack. I've lost count of the amount of stories where Jack is portrayed as the bully. Jack is _not_ a bully. Remember that in RotG, Jack went to bat for a group of spirits who, until Manny said they needed him, didn't even give him the time of day. It's a common theme that most of the time, Jack is the one responsible for the bad situations. I asked someone why, in their story, Jack was being portrayed as the asshole at the start. His answer?**

 **"Well, because it's Jack. He's a troublemaker."**

 **That... that didn't sit right with me. Jack automatically pigeonholed as the antagonist, initial asshole, or cause of conflict just because of a part of his character?**

 **Now, let's look at Elsa. I can name, off the top of my head (though more will come to me later _after_ I post this as per usual) one story where Elsa "dun goofed". Generally when Elsa is the villain or has made a mistake, it's usually because the circumstances were out of her control (how many of you have seen plotlines where she has been controlled/manipulated by Pitch? Answers on a postcard). Elsa seems to have this uncanny knack of coming out of situations like a Karma Houdini where she really should be held responsible. I don't think I've ever read a story where she cheated, and if she _is_ cheating, it's _with_ Jack, not _on_ him. Is it because she's more of a fan favourite than Jack? Is it because Jack's a man? Maybe. I don't know. I don't know the thought process behind each individual story. Maybe it's because people see themselves in their protagonists, and a lot of people identify with Elsa - and let's face it, no-one likes to be the one responsible for a mistake. But the common theme running through most stories is that Jack, as the prankster, troublemaker or whatever, is generally the one that hurts Elsa or causes damage to or the breakup of the relationship. Very rarely is it the opposite.**

 **I started writing Elsa as the one responsible to bring balance back. Because antha is right, man or woman, we are all capable of fucking up every once in a while. None of us are immune. However, it goes both ways. Elsa is just as much capable of screwing up as Jack is, and I think a lot of people forget that. Maybe I've done it too much - it's entirely possible, and it's something I'll certainly look at.**

 **I'd also like to add that in no way am I suggesting any of these stories are bad. Far from it. Some of them are actually really good. However, like Antha states they were getting a little tired of seeing Elsa be the cause of the breakup/conflict in my stories, I was getting jaded and burned out by Jack being the automatic go-to mistake-maker in others.**

 **Whew, that turned out a little longer than I anticipated.**

 **Anyway, I hope no-one is offended or takes umbrage with what I've said, and if so, please PM me.**

 **Regards,**

 **Furiyan**


	3. Chapter 3

_The Line 3_

Okay. Jack has heard his fair share of super villain names, from Treekeeper to Rasputin, but this one takes the cake. "I'm sorry—Nightmare _what?"_

Whilst Hiccup tucks hungrily into his mushroom risotto and Merida pokes halfheartedly at her tagliatelli, Elsa continues. "The Nightmare King."

The image that comes to Jack's mind is of a spindly man in a black spandex onesie, with dozens of little _z's_ adorning the material. Not the assumption one wants when, apparently, the situation is serious enough to warrant reforming The Line. "Uh-huh," he utters with a skeptical drawl. "Lemme guess - he terrorises small children with nightmares."

Hiccup snorts behind his mouthful of risotto, earning him a reproachful look from Elsa. "If only that was all he did."

Jack frowns. "Huh?"

"The Nightmare King is an ancient being, Jack. No-one knows precisely how old he is, only that there have been records of his appearances dating back as far as the Roman Empire. Perhaps even further."

Jack scoffs a little. "Vampire? How cliché."

The edges of Elsa's lips twitch. "I doubt that very much. What I can tell you, however, is that he has been there for every dark moment in human history. The Salem Witch Trials, he was sowing the seeds of paranoia. He was in the trenches of the First World War, revelling in the chaos and guiding a young Austrian messenger on a terrible path that would lead to the greatest massacre of innocent lives in human history. He whispered in the ears of American and Russian leaders, nearly starting a nuclear holocaust. The Bolshevik Revolution, the beginning of the slave trade, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, you name it. He was there, nurturing and feeding on the fear."

The ambient volume of the conversations in the restaurant lessens slightly, but Jack is in too much a state of disbelief to notice. It all sounds crazy, like the fantasy plot of a novice fanfiction writer. For someone to have his fingers in every slice of history's pie…

"Seriously? C'mon, Elsa. That's insane. How do you expect me to believe that?"

Merida makes a muffled hum, like a noise one does when their mouth is full. Sure enough, a quick glance reveals her bandana has been pulled down and one of her cheeks is adorably hamster-like. "I didnae believe it at first, either." She gestures at Elsa with an impressively expensive-looking fork. "Show him tha photographs."

Elsa's hands dive under the table, reappearing moments later clutching a handful of photographs, eight in all. She hands them to Jack, who takes them with wary eyes, and returns her fingers to their prior laced posture. Jack's eyes look down at the laminated images in his hands; a few are of paintings or drawings from the days before cameras were invented, and the rest are actual photographs. The first is of a bunch of men and women, Puritan-era by Jack's shaky recollection of his history lessons. The second, a line of black men and women led in chains. He leafs through the moments frozen in time, from Hitler at a rally, to Khrushchev and his military staff.

Is it just him, or is the restaurant a little quieter, now? Jack dismisses the notion as he looks up from the images. The customers have probably realised the hour and started heading home.

"Alright - I don't get it."

"Look again," Hiccup prompts him. "Don't look at what you're _supposed_ to look at."

Jack cocks a skeptical eyebrow, and seriously considers therapy for Hiccup as he does so. He leafs through the images one more time: the ruins of Hiroshima; Hitler, surrounded by his fascist goons, and—

"Wait…"

His eyes glimpse a man stood behind and to Hitler's left. With jet black hair and a hawkish face, he could almost be mistaken for Goebbels… except Goebbels is at Hitler's _right._

He's seen this man before.

Curiosity driving him, Jack goes back through the images - sure enough, the man is in every one. Walking through ruined Japanese buildings. Observing the slaves with his hands behind his back. Leaning over Stalin's shoulder as the Russian dictator signs a document.

An unwelcome chill grips Jack's spine, clenching his stomach. This has to be a joke, some kind of Photoshop masquerade.

"You see him, don't you?"

Elsa's voice catches his attention - not that it's difficult… it's _Elsa -_ and he nods. "So you're telling me this guy, this Nightmare King, has been behind the scenes manipulating every bad thing in human history?"

"I wish I could tell you differently," Elsa says in a solemn voice, "but it's true."

Jack shakes his head, resisting the urge to laugh out of nerves and disbelief. He hands the pictures back to her. "That's nuts. For all I know, these could have been edited… _how_ do you know all this?"

Elsa looks at him as she takes the pictures and returns them wherever they came from, and her expression is akin to a gut punch as it's the exact same expression she wore when she dumped him - humourless, honest, and deeply serious. "Because my grandmother fought him."

" _What."_

See? Thousand and one household uses.

The story of Elise Whitethorne is well-known, at least to anyone bothering to look up superhero history. Known as the White Witch, she was the scourge of super villains and ne'er-do-wells alike, defeating and trapping them with her mastery over winter itself. On her days off, she was a historian and museum curator - which explains the images. The White Witch was famous, looked-up-to and celebrated, her actions setting in motion the Age of Heroes as Hiccup likes to call it, an age of safety and security with superheroes in every city.

Until she, without explanation, disappeared.

Of course, anyone close to Elsa knew the truth - the White Witch passed away peacefully in her bed, surrounded by her family - including a young Iduna Whitethorne, Elsa's mother.

She shifts in her chair, ignoring her gnocchi in favour of a glass of wine. "Yes. You see, upon learning of his existence, my grandmother dedicated her free time to researching everything she could about him - as you can imagine, records were quite scant - believing him to be the single greatest threat to humanity. She believed that if she could end him, mankind's only threat would be mankind itself - something much more easily managed. So, she sought him out."

Jack nods - and the background noise lessens further still.

"They fought each other around the world. Wherever there was conflict, or a place where fear was rampant, he would be there… and they would clash. It went on for a decade - but the longer she battled him, she realised: he could not be defeated. The Nightmare King was immortal, _invincible._ He hadn't lived for centuries for nothing. He was a force of nature, an abstract, as powerful as he was clever… and she was simply a human with supernatural gifts. After all, how do you kill fear itself?"

"Ask FDR," Hiccup chirps up.

"That's ' _the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself,'_ you dingus," Jack snarks.

Hiccup pulls a face and gives him a middle finger. Elsa clears her throat, returning the attention of the table to her. "My grandmother realised she couldn't kill him. It was impossible… but she could trap him. Seal him away for eternity… and the way to do that had been under her nose all along. Literally."

Elsa's right hand snakes under the collar of her business shirt - arousing thoughts in Jack's mind that really shouldn't be there - and pulls out a silver chain upon which hangs a transparent teardrop gem the size of one of Merida's meatballs. Jack remembers the necklace all too well, remembers how she freaked out when he tried to take it off the first time they made love.

Elsa looks at the precious jewel with an expression one usually doesn't expect - mournful regret. "This belonged to my grandmother, and was left to me in her will."

"What is it?" I mean-" he adds quickly after Merida gives him a funny look, "-other than the obvious?"

"A vessel, enchanted to contain supernatural powers, or entities. It was the reason my grandmother gained her powers…" her eyes travel to distant lands, and her expression becomes one of deep sadness, "the reason I am cursed with mine."

Before Jack can question what the hell she means by ' _cursed',_ Elsa sniffs, shoves the necklace back into its hiding place, and forces herself to continue. "When my grandmother owned it, it was then as it is now: empty. So, she theorised that just as it contained the formidable power over winter with which she was granted - though she made a mental note to never again touch mysterious jewelry without protective gloves-" Elsa chuckles bitterly, a sound that both lightens and pains Jack, "-it could also contain _him._ So, armed with her theory, she lured him to the Arctic."

Rapt, all Jack can issue is an impressed hum. It's clever - the Arctic Circle would have been where Elise was at her strongest. She could literally wield the land itself against the Nightmare King.

Elsa takes another sip of wine to wet her mouth before continuing. "She hoped to weaken him, use the very power and location of her surroundings to strip him of his strength."

"And did she?" Jack murmurs.

Elsa's eyes find his. "Yes, but not in the way she wanted to. You see, the Nightmare King _was_ weakened, but his power still exceeded hers. His assaults were relentless, endless, and in the end, she was too busy defending herself to try and use the necklace against him. So she went with Plan B."

"Which was?"

Elsa's lips quirk into a smile that _almost_ looks like pride. "She threw everything she had at him in one last strike… and _buried_ him in the Arctic ice."

A whistle of admiration escapes Jack's pursed lips, though a small voice at the back of his mind reminds him of his inferiority. He banishes the thought - now isn't the time for that shit. "Go Elise."

"Indeed," Elsa's smile falls, "but the victory was not without great cost. The battle and the long journey home had taken its toll on her. She had pushed her body past its limits, past the point of physical exhaustion, and by the time she returned home to Arendelle… she was dying. Her organs were slowly shutting down one by one. She had enough time to set her affairs in order and record a tape explaining everything I have just explained to you before she passed away."

Without thinking, Jack reaches across the table to take her hand. "I'm sorry."

For a few seconds, she holds it - _actually holds it -_ and Jack's heart soars when her gaze lingers on the embrace of their fingers. Until she jerks her hand away, of course, and does everything she can to avoid his eyes.

Stung, Jack withdraws his hand, and tucks it into a defensive folding of his arms. Up goes the wall of ice, metaphorically speaking. "So what's this darkness that's got you all shit-scared enough to reform The Line?"

"The Nightmare Prick is back, laddie," Merida declares, her Scottish accent doing little to diminish the ominous quality to her voice.

Jack's jaw loosens. " _What."_

You get the picture.

"How the—Elise buried him. That's right, yeah?" He looks at Elsa for explanation. "Your grandmother _buried_ him."

"Two words, my skeptical friend," Hiccup says amid a mouthful of risotto, before he swallows under a reproachful look from Elsa, "Global warming."

Jack's eyebrows rise. It makes sense. Decades of climate change must have caused unforeseen side-effects - though who could have predicted an ancient nightmarish being, trapped in a prison of ice?

The chill in his spine grows just enough to send a shiver through it, and for the first time in a long time, his stomach feels the weight of dread.

"Not tae mention icebreaker ships passin' willy nilly through tha Circle," Merida adds. Strange how she hasn't needed to talk over the background noise.

"Whatever his method," Elsa loudly cuts in, "the fact is the Nightmare King has returned. And he has not been resting on his laurels."

Elsa leans to the side once again, this time producing a small pile of newspaper cuttings. Initially, she holds them close to her chest, a frown of trepidation crossing her features. "Just over a year ago, a production team filming Arctic wildlife disappeared without a trace. When their plane returned, there was only the pilot on board, who when later questioned, talked of how the camerawoman took an ice pick and murdered the entire team, before taking off her clothes and walking off toward the Pole. He remembered running for the plane, away from ' _the shadow',_ but moments after takeoff he heard a noise in the passenger compartment… and didn't remember a thing since then. A few seconds after his recollection, he put a flare gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger."

"Yikes. I'm guessing no sign of him on the plane."

"No," Elsa shakes her head. "but I have been attempting to track his movements, assuming he disembarked in Canada. So far, he has visited every single city in America… and has left a trail of blood and death in his wake."

She hands the clippings to him. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm told you knew some of these people."

Sucking in a gasp, Jack's eyes widen as he snatches the clippings and begins to read, hoping to God it isn't true.

"No," he whimpers, "no, no-no-no…"

The truth stares back at him.

 _DEATH OF THE INCREDIBLES_

 _HERO FROZONE MURDERED_

 _SYNDROME DEAD_

Jim Hawkins. Toothiana. Sandman. North. The Easter Bunny.

The names go on.

All dead.

"God, no. This… t-this can't be true…"

He looks up at Elsa, panic in his eyes. "What about Dash? Violet? _Jack-Jack?!"_

"If it's any consolation, I was able to warn Robert and Helen in time for them to spirit the children away to safety. However, Mr and Mrs Incredible chose to stay and fight. Perhaps they were buying time."

The relief coursing through Jack's heart is a match for the grief and rage sharing the space. It clouds his mind, warps his senses. He covers his mouth with a loose fist, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes.

"Okay." He sniffs, tossing the cuttings into the centre of the table. "So, we go find him, take him down. Make the bastard pay. Where is he?"

The look she exchanges with Hiccup and Merida? It speaks volumes, and Jack's stomach sinks to the floor.

"He's already here, isn't he?" Jack murmurs. "He's in Arendelle…"

"S'what we've been tryin' tae tell ye, Jack, but ye—"

Jack's hand shoots up. A frown crosses his face, and the sensation of hairs standing on the back of his neck becomes too much to ignore. The weird sensation of something being off?

"Don't ye dare—"

"Red," he hisses. "Shut the fuck up and listen. Do you hear anything?"

Merida looks at him like he's speaking another language. "No, nothin'! I cannae hear a—"

"Wait… Jack's right…" Elsa murmurs.

There isn't a single sound from behind him. No clinking of cutlery, no animated conversation. Not even a single clearing of a throat. The once-bustling restaurant is as silent as the grave.

Jack slides his chair back and rises to his feet, filling the room with the scraping of wood on wood, and with one hand firmly gripping his staff, he turns and pulls back the curtain.

Every single customer is still. Unmoving. With empty eyes they stare _through_ each other, the only indication of life being the subtle rise and fall of two dozen chests, and for a time, the only sound in Jack's ears is the thump of his heartbeat.

Jack weaves through the tables, closely observing each person. It's like they're statues - not one of them blinks, not even when he clicks his fingers an inch from their eyes.

"The hell's going on?" says Hiccup from behind him. Jack turns to see him waving in front of a waiter's face. Movement catches his eye, and he notices Elsa leaning down to press two fingers to a middle-aged lady's wrist.

"It's like someone just stopped time," Jack muses. Judging by the occasional passing of cars outside, whatever is afflicting the restaurant is contained within its walls.

"Think it's tha food?"

"No," Elsa mutters, and it's the ominous tone to her voice that twists Jack's gut. Straightening up, she pulls her hand from the woman's wrist, and as she rubs her fingers and thumb together, small specks of black are visible. Jack moves closer for a better look, and squints down at her fingers.

"Sand." She looks up at him, eyes wide with comprehension and urgency. "We need to leave. Now."

The look in her eyes tells Jack all. _He_ is here.

Jack nods, and gestures with his eyes to the same side door he exited - and was practically _pushed_ through - all those hours ago. Elsa nods her agreement, and turns to issue the same silent order to Merida and Hiccup, who both give her a single nod in return.

Elsa is the first to move; carefully, quietly, like the slightest sound will snap the customers out of their trance, while Merida glides over to the table to pick up her bow and quiver of arrows. Following just behind Elsa, Jack is led to the grey door. Her hands lace around the handle.

"I have to say, this is very, very exciting."

The voice freezes them in their tracks. Silky smooth, self-assured and confident, the English accent fills the room - and Jack's skin - with a crawling, sinister tension. His head slowly turns to the source.

The man in black in the far corner of the room near the main door slowly straightens up. The one he'd ignored on the way in, the one he'd assumed to be a victim like all the others. He turns, and Jack's heart freezes a beat.

The man's eyes are golden yellow, radiating unblinking menace. His skin is slate-grey, his face as hawkish as it was in the photographs, his lips curled in a smirk of pure malevolence. At his full height, he looks even taller than Jack, and his attire is a smart business suit _entirely_ in black.

The Nightmare King.

"The Line… all in one place. I'm a little starstruck."

* * *

 **3/7.**

 **I may or may not have my motivation for OGaV back. Stay tuned.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Descriptions of violence and gore, and distressing paragraphs. You have been warned.**

* * *

 _The Line 4_

Jack would be the first to admit he thought Elsa was on something when she told them the story of the Nightmare King. The idea that, even in a world with dragons and superheroes, an ancient being was fucking around with history seemed like fantasy. To a degree, he had only bought what she was selling because _she_ believed it.

But to see the Nightmare King standing before him, in a room full of statue-like restaurant patrons, banishes all doubt. He is _very_ real.

He claps his hands together, causing Jack to flinch slightly. Everything about him radiates malevolence, a kind of menace only centuries of evil can display, and it pervades the air like a noxious fume.

The act stirs a flurry of movement at Jack's right, quickly attracting a glance. Merida, her bow drawn, levels an arrow at the Nightmare King's head.

"Ah-ah," the man lifts up his hands in an insincere attempt at peace, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Gimme one good reason," Merida snarls.

"I can give you thirty." His grey, slender hands open up and spread a wide gesture around him, and he then addresses the room, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would all be so kind as to take the nearest sharp object and press it to your carotid artery."

Thirty hands in unison grab for knives, steak knives, forks and skewers, and obediently jab the implements into the skin of their necks. If it wasn't so unsettling and horrifying, Jack would be impressed - especially with their utterly blank expressions, like their own impending deaths don't even register.

It's then that the pieces fall into place in his mind. The Nightmare King's ability to manipulate people, steering history in a specific direction. The reason the camerawoman massacred her production team and stripped off in the second coldest place in the world, and why the pilot swallowed a flare gun.

Complete control.

All of a sudden, Jack finds himself as still as they are, daring not to move. He glances at Merida, whose prior brazenness has all but vanished. Her aim falters.

"I bet I could put an arrow in ye before ye spoke another word."

The man shrugs. "I don't doubt that. You are, after all, an archer without peer. However," his lips curl once again, "are you willing to risk thirty lives on the assumption I did not plan for that?"

He gives each of them a look in turn. "You're all noble, selfless types. I don't think you want that much blood on your hands."

It's enough for Elsa to make a decision, it seems. Jack doesn't like it one bit, but it's not like they have a choice. This guy holds the cards. "Stand down, Red."

Jack throws another look at Merida, who reluctantly lowers her bow - taking care to slide the arrow where she can grip both it _and_ the bow - yet keeps her glaring eyes fixed upon the man in black.

"See? No need for hostility." He spreads his hands, and issues a vocal command to the room - to Jack's relief, thirty sharp implements are lowered to the table. His smile lingers, before an aghast expression cuts across his grey face as he slaps a hand to his forehead. "Oh! Where are my _manners?_ We haven't been properly introduced. Wait-" he raises the other hand, "-let me guess."

He points to each of them in turn. "Red Arrow, archer of no equal. Night Fury, heir to Haddock Industries and technological genius." He frowns. "Where… where is your winged friend?"

"Not here," Hiccup says.

"That _is_ a shame. I've walked this earth for hundreds of years and have never seen a dragon." He looks at Jack. "Moonlight, self-styled spirit of winter and perpetually self-doubting superhero."

He turns to look at Elsa, leaving Jack to nurse the armor-piercing jab.

"And finally, Snow Queen. Descendant of the White Witch, living embodiment of winter, and reason for Moonlight's self-esteem issues. I'm not surprised - after all, your abilities render him somewhat obsolete. You are, if you'll pardon the comparison, the Mark Two version of him. Superior in every way."

At this, he instinctively glances at Elsa… and the sensation of a hand gripping his heart is felt at how she looks back at him. Taken aback, her eyes ask the question: " _Is it true? Why didn't you tell me?"_

Jack looks away - the shame and embarrassment is a little too much to bear.

"And ye'd be tha Nightmare King," Merida declares.

"Oh, I've been known by many names. The Nightwalker, Kozmotis Pitchiner… I think someone even called me the Grim Reaper." He quirks his lips. "Nice chap, by the way. The scythe is a tad distracting, but he's a very unassuming spirit. No… the name I go by is… Pitch Black."

He looks around the room as though expecting a crescendo of ominous music or a four-strong gasp of terror. "Oh, come on," he groans, "that's brilliant! No?"

Shaking his head in clear exasperation, he then adds, "Honestly, you try to come up with a name that's dramatic, but you—is that puttanesca?"

Jack's neck is beginning to feel the effects of whiplash with how fast the atmosphere seems to shift. Abandoning his complaint, Pitch Black glides over between Jack and Elsa toward the double doors to the kitchen - where, to Jack's horror as he follows the movement with his eyes, stands one of the restaurant's waitresses. Her eyes are wide with fear, her body rigid, hands holding a plate of what Pitch astutely assumes to be puttanesca.

"Lovely," Pitch says, rubbing his hands together with excitement, before resting one of them on the waitress' shoulder. Jack watches as, in the few seconds Pitch whispers something in her ear, her entire body relaxes and her face becomes as blank as the rest of the room's occupants. Pitch takes the plate from her, and with all the grace and self-autonomy of a pre-programmed robot, the waitress makes her way to the bar to the left of the restaurant doors.

"What did you do to her?" Elsa hisses.

"Who?" Pitch looks momentarily confused. "Ah - I told her to fetch the most expensive white wine that would go with such a punchy dish. You have to match the flavour, after all. Can't have the wrong wine." He nods toward the table they'd been sitting at before it all went to hell. "Come - I believe I interrupted your meal."

Pitch sweeps off toward the table, stopping once to order a portly, balding man to vacate his chair and stand in the corner of the restaurant so he could take it. Pushing it somewhere between Jack and Merida's seats, he repositions half of the plates and cutlery before sitting with his plate in the newly formed space.

Neither Jack nor the rest of the Line move a muscle, prompting Pitch to notice the lack of activity, and turn in his chair with a puzzled expression. "Well, come on, then! Or do I need to incentivize you?"

Jack and the Line exchange concerned glances. Elsa mutters, "We should play along," and the group reluctantly follows her command - but not before Hiccup stops them to whisper, " _When the lights go out, run to the kitchen."_

One by one, the four take their seats, though Merida and Jack make sure to drag their chairs as far as possible from the man in black without appearing rude. Pitch isn't fazed in the slightest, whether choosing to ignore them or simply indifferent to it; rather, he picks up a fork and takes his first bite of _someone else's_ meal.

His face morphs into culinary bliss, issuing a contented, close-lipped hum. "Oh, this is delicious. I haven't had puttanesca this delightful since…" his eyes move to the ceiling in recollection, and he waves a finger to enunciate every other syllable, "the Allied invasion of Italy in nineteen forty-three. Back then, I thought eternal life couldn't be better… until D-Day."

"You were there?"

Pitch looks at Hiccup. "Oh, yes. The Second World War was a _fantastic_ time to be me. Mind you, I preferred to be in Poland, but…" his lips curl a nostalgic smile, "Normandy beach was a close second. All those soldiers storming the German machine guns, all that _fear…_ I didn't even need to do anything but sit back with my _coq au vin_ and watch."

In any other situation, Jack would snicker loudly at _coq au vin_ and relentlessly nudge Hiccup until the latter understood, but the sensation of walking a tightrope and wanting to punch Pitch in the face puts paid to that.

The waitress returns to the table like a blank canvas, and presents the bottle to Pitch. "Oh, _excellent_ choice, my dear," he says as he inspects the label. "Now, once you've opened it and poured a glass for me, be a dear and go into the kitchen. You have one more task, yes?"

The waitress nods, and slowly turns to leave the table once the glass is filled, leaving a nauseous sensation in the pit of Jack's stomach as he tries _not_ to speculate on what the task is.

"How're ye doin' that?" Merida breathes, thoroughly unsettled as her eyes follow the waitress through the double doors. "It's like they have nae mind of their own."

Pitch looks up at her, black eyebrows raised, the rim of the wine glass between his lips. "Hmmm? Mmm!" He swallows his sip and licks at the traces of the liquid on his lips. "That _is_ delicious. The answer to your question is _fear."_

"What," Jack says, "they're scared of you so they do what you want?"

Pitch winces slightly, spreading his free hand and making a _so-so_ gesture. "Eeeeh-yes, they are scared; no, that's not the reason. You see, everybody has something to fear, and it is through that fear I am able to compel people to follow my direction. To access their mind, if you will. Hitler, for example, was afraid his generals and the German people would see through his façade and realise the truth: that he was wholly, disappointingly, mediocre. I mean - have you _seen_ his art? Van Gogh's blood-spattered bed sheets were more interesting after I told him to cut off his own ear."

"And the waitress?"

Pitch smiles. "Well, her fear comes true every day she comes to work here. Let's just say the manager of this establishment has hands that like to wander in places they really shouldn't."

As if to illustrate his statement, a deep, bloodcurdling scream rips its way into the main restaurant from the kitchen, causing Elsa to jump up from her chair and attempt to start towards the double doors. Pitch holds up a hand, and Elsa reluctantly sits back down, her face wracked with anger and worry.

"Sounds like she'll be free of that fear from now on." Pitch's upper lip curls. "I do so despise sexual misconduct. So uncivilized."

Jack only has a few moments to internally raise his eyebrow at the idea of a man so casually controlling people against their will having issues with another form of power over others before Pitch stiffens as though struck by a thought.

"Would you like a proper demonstration?"

Four heads shake their refusal, but it's no use. Turning his head over his shoulder, Pitch calls out, "The woman in the red Bardot dress."

Sure enough, sat at the far wall under a painting of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, a blonde woman with an ill-fitting red off-the-shoulder dress slowly turns her head toward him. Jack's stomach sinks to the floor with dread, but his limbs are iron heavy. His own fear for the customers' safety keeps him rooted to the spot.

"Take that steak knife across the table from you… and stab yourself in the chest for every time you cheated on your husband. Save the last one for your heart."

The woman's head turns back. Her hand reaches across the table.

"Oh God," Elsa whispers.

Her fingers entwine around a wooden handle.

"Stop this!" Merida begs. "She's an innocent!"

"Hardly," Pitch scoffs as he returns his attention to his meal.

The tip of the blade points toward her chest, the metal glimmering in the artificial lighting.

In the blink of an eye, the knife plunges. In, out. In, out. Gurgles and chokes fill the room as the woman doubles over. Again and again, blade meets skin, crimson liquid seeping from her lips and spurting from her chest, drowning the scarlet fabric with a darker red. Her strikes slow down, her body jerking with each stab until, finally, the blade is embedded in her heart. Her head crashes down on the table, blood dripping from her hanging fingers onto the carpet - and her eyes stare _through_ Jack, empty and lifeless.

He almost _felt_ the blade penetrate her skin as though his own. Nausea churns his stomach, his mind blank to all save a replay of the sickening horror he'd just witnessed, like watching a tragedy through eyes that aren't his.

Six times.

Six times did the knife tear her apart.

Jack's eyes slowly find Pitch, who shows no signs of care or empathy, just indifference. He hasn't even stopped eating.

"Her fear was that her husband, her devoted, caring, loving husband would find out about her infidelity. He happens to be sitting across from her right this moment." Pitch's lips quirk, and he shrugs. "Surprise!"

"You're a monster," Elsa whispers, horrified, her eyes wide and a trembling hand covering her mouth.

"Maybe, but if you ask me, I think the true monster is one's own mind. It lies to you, deceives you, convinces you that you are unworthy, undeserving of true happiness, of _love."_ He thumbs behind him. "I suppose the tragedy of it all is that she _was_ deserving of him. He loved her for her - but she couldn't understand why. Saw herself as worthless, undeserving. So, she subconsciously tried to sabotage her marriage, to prove right the demons in her mind and show him he could do better. Yet, she could not envision a life without him, as she loved him too much - and the kicker? He would have understood and forgiven her."

As Jack glances at Elsa, there's an undefinable look she gives him that pokes at his heart, before she tears her gaze away.

Merida bolts up from her chair, leaning across the table with her fingers feathering over the cloth, and glares pure fire at Pitch - who doesn't look fazed in the slightest.

"Izzat why ye killed her?!" she snarls. "To show us yer a monster with no heart?!"

Pitch holds up a finger. "Technically she killed herself. No, I did it to prove a point - to show you all how far I'll go for what I want."

"And that is?"

Pitch doesn't answer, though the bulge in his left cheek would somewhat impede speech. Instead, he throws a look and gestures with his eyes to one person.

Elsa goes as white as a sheet, eyes widening. "Me?"

Confusing Jack further, Pitch swallows his mouthful and looks at her like she's just said the stupidest thing in the world. "No! You? Why would I want _you?_ You're nothing, inconsequential, a bag of meat and bones housing that pathetic concept you humans call a soul. No, I want something of yours."

Elsa's hand makes a loose fist over her chest as though protectively covering something. "H-how did you know?"

Pitch recoils a little. "How did I know? How could I _not?"_ He shoots a pointed look at Hiccup. "You really should have picked a better place than a restaurant in which to have your little secret _tête-à-tête,_ where anyone could eavesdrop. And Twitter? _Really?"_

Were the situation not so dire, Jack would have kicked Hiccup under the table. No, the urge to put himself in between Pitch and Elsa is far too strong.

Muttering something suspiciously like, " _this is why superheroes have secret identities,"_ Pitch places his fork and spoon next to each other on the plate, gently dabs his lips with a napkin, and takes another sip of his wine. "I'm going to make this very simple for you all, especially Mr Big Mouth over here. You are going to give me that necklace…"

He puts down the glass, and stares unblinkingly at Elsa as he places his fingers together.

"...or everyone in this restaurant dies."

The Line share a weighted look between them, whilst Jack grips his staff under the table. Maybe if he shocks Pitch with a blast of ice in the eyes, he can grab Elsa and fly her out of there. A well placed concussion arrow would take care of the customers, enabling Merida to escape with Hiccup on Toothless' back.

The silence drags on - and Pitch has enough. "Okay. Ladies and gentlemen," he calls out loud, "take the nearest knife and—"

"Wait!"

Jack's eyes, and those of the rest of the table all turn to look at Hiccup, his phone in one hand as he holds them up in surrender.

"We'll give you what you want. We'll give you the necklace—"

"What the hell're ye doin'?!" Merida hisses. Hiccup raises his eyebrows, and gives Jack, Merida and Elsa a pointed look.

 _Be ready._

"—just answer me this one question."

Pitch curls an unimpressed eyebrow. "And that is?"

Hiccup smiles, and turns the screen toward them, where three letters can be read over a large red button.

EMP.

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

* * *

 **I hope the previous scene wasn't too distressing for people.**


	5. Chapter 5

_The Line 5_

The moon is many things to different people, from a celestial object trapped in Earth's orbit, to a spiritual entity gazing down on the world like a caring paternal figure. Assuming you even notice it, of course: so many people are oblivious to the moon's existence, considering it merely a part of the background, only aware of it when its location or behaviour is out of the ordinary. Blood moon, blue moon, total or lunar eclipse. That sort of thing.

In a way, like Pitch.

For Jack, it's a source of guidance and direction, like the sailors of old navigating their way across treacherous, unending seas by only the night sky overhead. Often, when a decision warrants deep thought or he is bereft of direction, he'll find the highest tower in the city and lay on its roof, gazing at the ethereal orb whilst his mind processed. Sometimes he had asked out loud what he should do, entertaining the impossibility that the Man in the Moon would respond.

He never did - at least, not in the conventional sense. Sometimes Jack had wondered, though, if the final voice in the chaos of his thoughts, the one that brought clarity to the vague, was the Man in the Moon talking back to him.

On this occasion, however, as he sits with his knees drawn up to his chest, on the roof of one of Hiccup's getaway condos a hundred miles north of Arendelle City, no amount of gazing helps.

The scenery is pleasant enough. The night is clear, with the celestial orb and its countless, smaller brethren beaming down upon the glassy lake the condo overlooks. The air is still enough to hear owls calling in the distance, and the shadow-like forest rustles only with the movement of the night-dwelling creatures. Hiccup calls it _Itchy Armpit_ for some bewildering reason, but the condo's purpose is clear: a retreat away from life. In his browsing Jack had noticed countless gadgets strewn all over the house, so being the person best to understand isolation, he'd figured holing himself away in the middle of nowhere, to tinker on his tech is Hiccup's way of enjoying some alone time.

It had been the place Hiccup suggested they hide for the time being while they worked out their next move, but everyone knew the real reason.

They needed to breathe. Their minds needed to process what had happened in the restaurant.

And Jack's mind is the worst place for him to be, right now.

He's fought villains before. God, he's lost count. They've all been narcissistic, grandiose individuals with entitlement issues and delusions of grandeur, though some bad people were good once upon a time, with a tragic event steering them onto a villainous path. Most of them are still human, though. They all possess the same flaws, same emotions, same behaviourisms.

But this guy, this Pitch Black? He's _evil._ He won't compromise, can't be reasoned with. He's _utterly_ indifferent to human life, ordering someone to kill themselves with as much thought as choosing what to wear in the morning. Like a mass suicide in a restaurant is just another Tuesday. The more Jack thinks about it, the more he realises that Third Law Hiccup keeps banging on about.

If The Line is the action, then Pitch Black is their equal and opposite reaction. Their antithesis. His shadow moving in their light. An evil he's trying - and failing - to comprehend.

And in Jack's mind, the events of the restaurant play over and over again. The handless body of the restaurant manager slumped over the kitchen food servery, dozens of puncture wounds in his back, illuminated by the neon green glowstick Merida carries just for emergencies. The waitress preparing to lock herself in the freezer, mercifully saved from such an end by a well-placed knockout punch from Elsa in the nick of time.

There's no voice to guide his way, no moment of clarity. So, as Jack gazes up at the sky, hood obscuring his head, the moon is just… the moon.

How spectacularly unhelpful.

"Yo, laddie!"

Jerked from his trance, Jack sits up, craning his neck to peer over the guttering of the roof. Merida stands there, on the huge veranda built against the lake, looking up at him with her hands folded, a glass poking out from the crook of her arm.

"Ye gonna come down? Only it's killin' ma neck ta look at ye."

Shaking his head with a little amusement, Jack rolls onto his side and slides off the tiled roof with a clatter, landing gracefully on his feet. Straightening up, he witnesses Merida giving him the once-over with a curled eyebrow.

"I cannae decide whether ye're showin' off, or just a weirdo."

"No harm in both. What's up?"

"Maybe not." Merida cocks her head to concede the point. "Came ta give ye some good news, laddie. Been listenin' in ta the police radio, an' watchin' tha news. Not a single report on a mass suicide."

Jack lets out a shaky sigh of relief - that had also been weighing on his mind. Pitch clearly had no compunction about wiping out over two dozen people to prove a point - he'd been dreading the possible outcome that, in his frustration, Pitch would have made them do it anyway as revenge for their escape.

Though Elsa's quick thinking in sealing his mouth shut with a blast of ice, a split second before the lights went out, was inspired. Can't compel if you can't speak.

"Aye," Merida takes his reaction as her answer. "So I reckon we should celebrate small mercies."

With that, she produces a hip flask from her utility belt, and nods toward the wooden rail preventing people from a watery embarrassment. She fills the glass halfway and passes it to Jack, who eyes it with surprise.

"The last person who drank from your flask got a black eye."

"Aye, ye did," Merida looks at him with a smirk, "but I thought I'd be nice."

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, or try Merida's patience, for that matter, Jack accepts the glass and takes a sip.

His mouth immediately punishes him for his heresy. The liquid burns its way down his throat, causing a bout of coughs and sputters as he nearly doubles over. "Fuck, Merida - do you drink this or clean your motorcycle engine with it?"

Merida shrugs as she swigs. She doesn't even flinch. "Sometimes both."

"Not surprised." Jack eyes the liquid warily, as though it'll come out and bite him. "This is revolting."

"More?"

"Please."

Merida chuckles to herself as she adds a few drops more to his glass. Jack takes another sip and promptly pays for it. "Y'know, this isn't helping the rumors that the Red Arrow is an alcoholic."

Merida gives him a sidelong look. "Hell with rumors. People can shove their opinions where they belong - up their arses. 'Sides-" she takes a swig, "ye're gonna lecture me on my coping mechanism, Saint Jack the Runaway?"

Jack tries to ignore the not-so-much-jab,more the full-on-gut-punch. "Nope."

"Good. So drink up and shut up."

Jack rolls his eyes and raises the glass to his lips, mentally preparing himself for the liquid onslaught sure to follow - but the activity in his brain cells brings up a puzzling thought.

"Why?"

Merida gives him a funny look. "Ye're not taking ' _shut up'_ personally, are ye?"

Jack leans back on the wooden rail. "No. Why didn't Pitch wipe out the restaurant? He could have done it for shits and giggles, and _would_ have done it to punish us for making him look like an ass by escaping right under his nose. I don't get it."

Merida leans her forearms on the railing, and gazes off into the still lake. "I do."

"You do?"

"Uh-huh." She takes a _deep_ swig. "Exposure. It'd make too much noise. People like him, they work behind tha scenes, in tha shadows. It's how they survive. They don't like tha limelight, and they'll do all they can ta stay out of it. A restaurant full o' corpses is gonna raise too many questions, but the cops'll buy a murder an' a suicide, especially if what Pitch says about them is true."

"That's sad, and disappointingly believable," Jack sighs.

"Mmmhm. I've taken down enough evil wankers ta recognise a shitstirrer when I see one." She empties the flask into her mouth. "The world's shit, laddie. It's always been shit." She snorts and shoots a bitter look across the darkened treeline. "At least now we can put a name ta the shit."

"Merida…"

When next she speaks, all trace of her cynicism, her jadedness, her pessimistic attitude to existence vanishes. Her voice is croaky, wavering… and a tear slides down her left eye, shimmering in the moonlight.

"I close my eyes, an' I see her. The woman in tha restaurant. My mind keeps replayin' it over an' over again, an' it just won't stop! He made her do it, he _made her die—_ he _killed_ her an' she had no control, _no control—"_

Her words die to the sucking of a breath and the chewing of her trembling lip, and her brow arches and dips as she visibly, _desperately_ , tries to maintain control. Jack's heart breaks in his chest for the woman beside him in velvet green and fiery red, for she's usually so stoic, so defiant, so _strong._ Not once has she ever shown vulnerability to anyone.

Until now.

Resting his glass upon the flat surface of the railing, Jack reaches out to her and feathers his right fingers across her left shoulder.

"Red…"

She violently shakes his hand off with a jerk of her shoulder, and rounds on him with a fire in her eyes unlike anything he's ever seen; but her eyebrows peak, and behind those eyes is a scared, wounded girl.

"Don't ye dare!" she snarls. "Ye don't get ta comfort me! Ye left! Ye left, an' it all went ta shit, and I had ta deal with this shitty world alone—"

"Red."

"—an' ye think ye got tha right ta touch me, when ye fuckin' abandoned us—"

Her words cut him to pieces, like bullets riddling his heart to shreds, but he doesn't stop. He surges forward and puts his arms around her. He takes the punches, the teeth-gnashed snarls, the hammers of her fists against his body. He takes it all, all her anger and her pain, her grief and confusion, every upcoming bruise his penance.

Because she's right. He left, and did more damage than he ever thought.

Her punches weaken to soft slams. Her growls subside to whimpers. Her body moves in his arms like she's fighting against giving in, and before long, she's howling her pain into his shoulder, sobbing her tears into his hoodie, body trembling and jerking.

"She w-was in-innocent!" Merida cries. "S-she didnae deserve it!"

"I know," Jack murmurs, the lump and the guilt in his throat strangling him. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Not once has she cried. Not a single occasion in the years he's known her has she even shed a tear. As he holds her broken, shaking body in his arms, stroking the soft curls at the back of her head, his heart shatters.

They stand there under the starlit sky for what feels like forever, with Merida's grief slowly ebbing as the roaring river of her emotion, having annihilated the dam, calms to a stream, Jack murmuring his apology.

"Merida? Are you okay?"

The voice from the glass doors startles them both, with Merida going so far as to wrench herself way and back up a few steps, both noticing the newcomer with her fingers still gripping the sliding doors with apprehension.

Merida hastily wipes her tears with the heels of her palms, sniffing. "I'm fine, lassie. I'm fine. I just—I just need tae be alone."

Without a further word and before Elsa or Jack can protest, Merida strides past her into the house, her trench coat swishing with the rapid movement. Elsa's head follows her as she disappears inside, then casts a quizzical look at Jack.

"Is she okay?"

Jack stares at the space between Elsa and the doorframe. "No. None of us are."

Elsa lets go of the door and walks out onto the decking, slowly rubbing her hands together. "I suppose that's true. Tonight has been… harrowing."

That's putting it mildly. Maybe Elsa chose a softer description for a reason. "What's up? You need something?"

She starts, as though jerked from her thoughts. "Hmm? Oh. I—I just came to inform you we have the beginnings of a plan to defeat Pitch."

Jack looks at her. Though his chest weighs with worry over Merida's emotional outburst, the good news of a plan is definitely morale boosting. "Okay. What's the plan?"

"Pitch desires my necklace, I think we can all agree on that. He desires it so he can destroy it, thereby removing - to my knowledge - the only threat to his existence."

"Uh-huh."

"So, we'll give him what he wants."

Well, fuck. Jack's brain undergoes a momentary bluescreen, replete with the appropriate sound. He looks at her, blankness written all over his face. "Do what now? I thought we bailed from paying for dinner so he _couldn't_ get it?"

Elsa's lips curl into a knowing smile. "Therein lies the rub. Hiccup is currently creating a copy with his ' _hyper-accelerated'-_ " she air-quotes, "three-dimensional printer, which we will use to trick him."

"Won't that just piss him off?"

"That's one outcome. Another is that, despite his centuries of experience, Pitch is no jeweller. Either he accepts the forgery as the real thing and destroys it, or he sees through the charade and in his arrogance is enraged we would dare to deceive him. Either way, he will be complacent or distracted - which is when Merida will strike… with an arrow tipped with the real gem. We cannot make Pitch touch the vessel… but we can make the vessel touch Pitch."

Jack's eyebrows rise, and his lips purse together with an impressed whistle. It could work. Pitch seems like a guy who was used to getting his way, and if what Merida had said is true, the only way forward is to antagonise or appease him. Lull him into a false sense of security, or cause him to make a mistake in his anger. It could work, but-

"What if it doesn't work?" Elsa cocks her head, so Jack elaborates, "It took everything Elise had just to put him in the ice, and all she did was slow him down. How can we do it if _she_ couldn't?"

"There's a simple answer to that, Jack." Elsa takes a step toward him, and automatically, part of Jack wants to back away. Her presence, untempered by that of their teammates, is playing havoc with his senses. "My grandmother didn't have a team with her."

Jack looks off to the lake, where the white sphere ripples on the surface, before giving up on working out what to say. He grasps the glass left behind and downs what's left; oddly, a slight wince is all he gives to the burning booze.

"Can we talk?"

Jack glances at her, before turning back to face the lake. "About?"

"About what Pitch said in the restaurant."

He knows where she's going with this. He knows what secrets she's trying to uncover. His gut tightens, and his frown deepens. He's not ready. Not for Elsa. "Pitch said a lot of things in the restaurant. You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Okay. How's this for specific?"

Before Jack can react, her left hand grasps his right bicep and forces him to turn and face her. She looks up at him from her half-a-head-height disadvantage, her eyes stern yet pleading for the truth. "Pitch said you were perpetually self-doubting. That I made you feel inferior and obsolete. Is that true?"

Jack chews his lip. That's a fun conversation. _Hey, I know we were together and loved each other, but I felt so useless next to you I'm pretty sure you only kept me around 'cause you loved me. Oh, and then you dumped me with no explanation, so, happy days!_

He defers to his usual method, even though he has a feeling it's pointless. "You should probably take what Pitch says with a bag of salt."

The reason it's pointless? Elsa _knows_ him. She knows when he's deflecting. Throwing her hand in the air, she looks at him with mild frustration and concern. "Oh God, Jack. Why didn't you tell me how you felt?"

Jack spreads his hands, as her reaction stirs a hot fire of annoyance in his chest. "What the fuck should I have said, Elsa?"

"I don't know!" Her voice raises a little, further adding to the unwelcome sensation of being cornered. "You should have said _something_ instead of hiding it all this time!"

Jack recoils a little, and he gives her a raised-brow look. Triggered, much? "That's hilarious, coming from you."

Her jaw loosens, and her hands find her hips. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not exactly an open book about your feelings."

"Maybe I'm not!" She rests an open hand over her heart. "But this isn't about me, this is about you and why _you_ feel you're not good enough!"

"Why's it so damn important to you?"

"Because it _is_ important to me!"

Jack turns to leave, but the urge to let it all out, set free the suppressed emotions and give flame to his anger is not easily cast aside. He rounds on her. "You wanna know? Fine. Hiccup can whip up all these gadgets that _always_ seem to be the right ones. Merida shot a sniper rifle out of someone's goddamn hands without even looking, on the top of a tower, in _high winds!_ Oh, and let's not forget the three of you have between you more money than God, and here I am, just a poor bozo from Burgess struggling to pay his rent! Hell - I'm practically homeless!"

"And me?"

"You? What can I do next to you?! I make frost on a window, you make a wall of ice. I make snowmen, you make snow _monsters._ My ice zaps, yours…"

Pitch is right. Everything Jack does pales in comparison to Elsa. She once built a small structure of pure ice just because she could. The heavy feelings, the inadequacy, it all wraps around his heart like an iron chain and drags him to the floor, eradicating his second wind of frustration and leaving behind naught but emptiness.

"...creates _anything_ you want it to create," he finishes, his voice quiet and downbeat. "Next to you… I'm _nothing."_

His head dips, and his gaze finds the floor as he scratches the nape of his neck.

"When you called me, and told me we were over without even letting me try to change your mind, or telling me why… it showed me that not only was I not good enough for the team… I wasn't good enough for _you."_

He hears her breath catch, though if her face betrays any sort of reaction, he isn't looking. It hurts too much. His heart thumps slowly, pushing ache after ache through his veins, and _curse him_ for his weakness. He never should have come back.

Her hand finds his forearm, and though somewhere inside him melts at her touch, it _burns._

"But you _are_ good enough for the team, Jack. Don't you see? Merida's cynicism, Hiccup's naïvete, my… but _you_ were the glue that held us together. You kept our spirits high when we were low, kept us going when all seemed lost. We may all be able to do powerful things but… you were our rock, our foundation. And without a foundation, a fortress crumbles. We needed you, Jack. I wish you knew that."

Jack scoffs, and the bitterness is enough for her hand to quickly withdraw like she too feels the burn. "We. Our. You speak for the team, but the thing is…"

He finally looks up at her. He should have said this a long time ago, rather than pull an Elsa and hide it. Her eyes are mildly wide. Awake. Open to every word. Her blonde braid shimmers in the moonlight, and the lips he'd once kissed are parted with each breath she takes.

"...it's not the team I'm still in love with."

Elsa blinks, and the small gasp she utters is easily caught over the gentle rolling on the lake shore. Her mouth opens and closes, and Jack finds a burning, constricting _need_ in his heart for her to speak. To say _something._ Communicate, for once in her life.

But his patience wore thin the moment she had cornered him, and he'll be damned before he plays _Break Down Elsa's Walls_ again.

"I'm gonna go," he murmurs, thoroughly deflated and hating the futility of it all. "Maybe see if Red has any of her engine degreaser left. I could use a drink."

He turns away from her, and not for the first time. It hurts to even be near her.

He only takes a few steps.

"I never wanted this life, you know."

He freezes in step. "What?"

"The life I'm leading, right now. I never wanted it."

He turns, and looks at her. She's gazing over the lake, her hands resting on the wooden railing. The moon reflects off her hair, like a silvery halo. "Not a day goes by where I wish I'd never touched that damned necklace. Sometimes, I even resent my grandmother for leaving it to me in her will."

She throws him a glance over her shoulder, as though checking he was still there. He's not moving. He can't. "Don't misunderstand, I love my grandmother, but…"

"But?" Jack catches himself murmuring.

"I wanted a normal life. I wanted to go to college. Study law. Help people with that. I wanted to see the world, maybe find someone like you. Settle down, have a family. All those things the people we protect take for granted."

She sighs and her head bows a little. Jack finds his feet, and slowly moves toward her.

"But then I touched the necklace. Then I gained these powers… my _grandmother's powers_ she'd somehow transferred into the gem… and all I ever wanted slipped through my fingers."

"So why did you become a hero? Why didn't you follow your own path?"

"Duty," she sighs. "I am bound by it. Suddenly it was expected of me to follow in my grandmother's footsteps, to continue her legacy. It was suddenly my obligation to be the hero she was, to be the perfect girl my family saw her as - even if it was not what _I_ wanted. So I know what it's like to feel like you're living in someone else's shadow."

Jack chews at his lip - he hadn't thought of that.

"But that duty has cost me dearly. I can't have a normal relationship with my sister without worrying if I'll put her in danger. People see me as the descendant of the White Witch, not a person in my own right."

Jack moves to lean his arms on the railing, but watches her every facial expression. How her face is taut with concentration, as though the very act of talking about herself so candidly requires such effort. Maybe it does, for someone like Elsa. "Is that why we broke up, because of your duty?"

She shakes her head. "When we were together, I was the happiest I'd ever been. I was in love, _deeply_ in love with you. Being with you… someone like me who shared my lifestyle, did what I did… it was like I had a chance. I had a shot at something of a normal life."

"So what changed?"

She looks at him, and there's a fear, a sadness in her eyes that squeezes at his heart. "Do you remember when Hades attacked Burgess?"

Jack snorts. How could he forget? Some dude with a temper that made Merida look like a Buddhist, with the power of pyrokinesis and designs on control?

And there was Jack, with _ice_ powers.

Yeah.

"You nearly died fighting him. If the rest of us hadn't arrived when we did, I would have lost you. And it scared me so much." She looks away, and the moon once more is reflected in her eyes. "I remember cradling you in my arms. I remember being so close to having a normal life slip through my fingers… _again._ As you slept in Hiccup's nano-cellular regeneration bed, this voice in my head that had been there ever since I fell for you told me it could happen again - or it could be _my_ grave you're visiting. Our love would be another casualty of the life I lead… so I was not meant to have that love. For the first time, I believed it. So I ended us to save us the pain of losing one another, convinced it was the best thing for us both."

"Without even talking to me about it." Jack checks himself for the harshness of his remark, when he sees Elsa flinch. He pinches his nose, and soothes his voice to a calm murmur. "You were scared of losing me, I get it. But you should have talked to me about it, not made a decision for the both of us without thinking about how _I_ felt."

"The thing is, Jack," she says amid a sigh, "I knew if I talked to you about it, you'd change my mind. You always did. At the time, I couldn't risk it."

"That was selfish."

She smiles, but it's joyless. "Yes. As was hoping that once the wounds were healed, I would still have you in my life as a friend. Have my cake and eat it, as it were. Only, by ending us - I had brought about the very thing I was trying to save us from. I lost you anyway."

"When I left. I did it because it hurt too much to stay."

Elsa nods. "And it felt even worse knowing that I pushed you even further away. I regret making that choice. I should never have listened to the voice in my head." Her head turns an inch toward him, and her eyes rest on his hand grasping the rail. "You were good enough for me, Jack. I just wish you had known that before you left."

Jack shuffles an inch closer. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Her eyes find his. Her voice is small, cracking, and a moonlit line of sadness makes its way down her cheek. "Because for all my planning, there is a very real chance we may not survive… and I don't want to be alone anymore."

Her hand inches closer to his. Slowly, carefully, finger by finger, like she's testing to see if he'll recoil. "I love you, Jack. I always have. I just… I needed you to know that, if everything goes wrong and we don't make it out alive."

If there's any doubt as to whether a heart can simultaneously bet with both pain and joy, Jack's heart eradicates that doubt. She still loves him. His hand leaps to hers, their fingers entwine, and a shaky breath escapes her lips as she squeezes so hard it hurts. She's so close, it's like his heart is punching its way out of his ribcage to be with her.

"I love you too, Elsa," he murmurs. Her eyes flick to his lips. "Never stopped."

His head inches closer to hers, and she tilts her head in response. "Are you going to kiss me?" she whispers.

"Would you like me to kiss you?"

"More than anything," she breathes.

There's a split second of a smile on Jack's lips before he closes the distance, meeting hers with a soft and tender kiss. She moans softly into the kiss, and he feels her free hand brush against his cheek. It's gentle, the way her lips move against his, and for a few, happy moments, the world is meaningless.

She wants more. The kiss deepens; Elsa turns toward him and releases his fingers to cup his face in her hands, allowing him to hold her against him with his hands on her sides. His heart threatens to explode, his mind is ablaze with stars and endorphins, _he's fucking kissing her again._

Eventually she pulls away for air, but close enough that their lips brush against each other. "Wow…" she breathes. "I missed how good that feels."

Jack chuckles, his head spinning. "You and me both - 'course, you know what this means, don't you?"

"That we're together again?" Even though her face is somewhat blurred by the close proximity, he can easily pick out the hope in her eyes. His lips curl into a chuckle.

"Not just that. Means I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure we live through this."

Her thumb moves up to stroke his eyebrow. "Is that your way of saying you're not leaving when this is over?"

Now, any other person would have given her a straight answer. But Jack isn't any other person. He's a self-confessed royal _pain in the ass._ Adopting a theatrical expression of mock-thought, he says, "Eeeeeeh-I'm still deciding."

Of course, Elsa by now is fully aware of his _pain-in-the-ass-ery_ , and while she would normally rebuke him and tell him to act serious, she plays along in a husky voice, "Maybe this will sway you."

She plants small, hot kisses from the corner of his lips in a trail towards his jaw, sending shivers of excitement down his spine. "Are… are you trying to seduce me, Mrs Robinson?"

Dustin Hoffman would be proud.

"Maybe," she slyly chuckles. "Is it working?"

Jack narrows his eyes with faux-indecision. "Might need a little more convincing."

"Okay… how's this?"

Elsa presses tender, teasing kisses down from his jaw to the crook of his neck, her hot breath and soft lips causing shudders throughout his entire body. Jack closes his eyes and revels in the sensations he'd long missed.

"Okay," he says abruptly, "I'm sold. C'mere, you!"

With viper speed he bends his knees and grips the backs of her thighs to lift her up against him. Squealing, she wraps her legs around his waist and throws her right arm around his shoulder, and he lifts her up onto the railing.

Then, of course, _something_ presses against _somewhere_ , and a light moan escapes her lips into his ear. "And just what are you thinking, Moonlight?" she teases. "When just anyone could walk in on us?"

Jack smirks into her neck, and tenderly nibbles at her responsive skin, causing a pleasured mewl. "That's the thrill of it. Besides, we could always—"

"Hey, guys, we've got a—"

Jack's heart leaps into his mouth, and Elsa lets out a squeak of surprise as she pushes him away. Thoroughly annoyed, he throws a sidelong glare at the new arrival.

Hiccup, eyes wide and clearly blushing, glances between them. "Sorry—was I interrupting something?"

" _Yes,"_ Jack growls. "Elsa and I were about to—"

"—do absolutely nothing," she cuts him off, slapping his arm and giving him a pointed look as she slides off the rail. She pulls in a breath, ignoring Jack's narrowed eyes, and expectantly regards the rider. "What's the matter?"

Hiccup scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Um… well I have good news and bad news. Good news is the fake necklace is ready."

"And the bad?" Elsa prompts him.

"My microdrones have been patrolling a two mile radius around this place, and they picked up four police cars and an unmarked SUV on their way here." Hiccup hesitates, before exhaling a breath. "It's Pitch."

Jack exchanges a solemn look with Elsa. The air of romance and passionate reunion vanishes, like vapor in a gust. Damn it, Pitch. "How long?" Elsa asks.

"About twenty minutes."

Jack finds himself automatically straightening, tensing with the anticipation of confrontation. Pitch is coming to _them,_ with armed cops, ready for a fight. He's desperate.

Jack shares a pointed look with Elsa, and instantly recognises her half-smirk. She's completely on his wavelength. "Tell me," she asks Hiccup, "those carbon fiber suits you created for us before we all parted ways - do you still have them?"

Hiccup's once worried, serious expression vanishes into an excited grin, and there's a moment Jack swears he sees him bounce on the balls of his feet.

"Still have them?" Hiccup thumbs behind him. "They're still here. Call me nostalgic, but they _never left."_

"Good." Elsa smiles, and Jack feels dainty fingers squeeze his hand. "Then let's suit up."

* * *

 **welp.**


	6. Chapter 6

_The Line 6_

If the Line was like the Avengers - one of Jack's favourite movies, so criticise it at your peril - then Hiccup is their Tony Stark… just without the ego and narcissistic tendencies. Every nifty gadget they had used, every piece of hardware and software at their disposal had been designed, paid for and made by the tech-savvy genius.

Including their reinforced carbon fiber suits, designed with their owners in mind. The very suits Jack and the Line are wearing as they wait in the dark yet moonlit, expansive living room of Hiccup's getaway condo.

"Remind me," Merida raps her knuckles against the breastplate of her emerald green suit, partly covered by her trusty trench coat, her voice mildly muffled by the red fabric covering her face from the nose down, "this can stop bullets?"

"Anything but a straight shot," Hiccup says as he pulls up the front zip to his suit, a brown with red accents number featuring segmented carbon fiber plating and Toothless' red silhouette on the left breast. Like Jack's navy blue version, it was designed with speed, agility and mobility in mind. "Though I wouldn't go charging head on at people with guns."

"Why do you have to suck the joy out of everything?" Jack says as he finishes clipping the mask to the lower part of his face, and pulls the hood of his suit over his head.

Hiccup gives him a deadpan look. "I'm sorry," he drawls, "by all means, walk at the cops with your arms wide, yelling ' _come at me, bro'."_

Jack's eyes crinkle with the smirk. "Now you're talking."

Hiccup displays what is commonly referred to by the Line as the _Triad of Exasperation,_ a simultaneous shake of the head, roll of the eyes and _get-outta-here_ wave of his hand.

"Are we all aware of the plan?" Elsa says as she threads her arm through the sleeve of her suit, and then lifts up the braid as she turns her back to Jack. "Would you mind?"

Jack tries his best to hide the lascivious smirk as he slowly - _too_ slowly - pulls up the zip on the back of her suit, his eyes revelling in the valley of her spine before it is covered.

"Neutralize tha cops, engage Pitch, piss him off, trick him, nail him," Merida says somewhat matter-of-factly.

"And you're sufficiently prepared?"

Jack regretfully finishes pulling up the zip, and glances at Merida just as she thumbs to the quiver on her back.

"Seven flashbang arrows, three multitarget tazer arrows, two single-target tazer arrows," she pauses, and her lips curl into an almost predatory smile, "and one special surprise just fer Pitch."

Elsa begins threading the straps of her ice-blue with silver filigree masquerade mask behind her head. "And you two, do you understand your roles?"

"Yep," Jack says with an air of mischief. "Run interference, be a distraction-"

"-and a giant pain in the ass," Hiccup finishes, earning him a gloved fist bump from Jack.

"Shouldnae be hard fer tha pair o' ye," Merida snarks. Jack sneers at her, but regrets the sticking out of his tongue. Reinforced latex does _not_ taste nice.

"Good." Elsa moves to stand next to Jack. "Those police officers are innocent people under Pitch's control. They have no idea what they are doing. Non-lethal only. Nobody dies tonight." She gives Jack a meaningful look. "Nobody."

Jack gives her a wink, a nonverbal _don't intend to._ She glances at the rest of the group. "Pitch thinks he can bully us into laying down so he can spread fear around the world. We're going to prove him wrong. No matter what comes, we stand firm."

She holds her hand out, palm facing down.

"We hold the line."

Jack is the first to rest his hand on top of hers. Merida steps toward them and places hers on Jack's, followed by Hiccup on Merida's. The four share meaningful, resolute looks, before Jack declares, "Let's go save the world."

Their hands part. Jack's skin mourns the absence of Elsa's touch for a moment, but the feeling is quickly banished as they turn toward the door and leave the house.

Hiccup puts two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill signal, and within seconds, the beat of wings heralds the arrival of the de facto fifth member of the line. Toothless touches down and trots over to Hiccup, his green eyes fixed upon the treeline as he lowers his right wing. Clambering on the dragon's back, Hiccup puts on his full mask, a black and beige leather piece with glowing blue eye-visors. It had always struck Jack as _epically cool_ how they did that.

Light filters through the treeline where the road to the condo cuts through it, cutting through the twilight mist and moving in a right to left arc. The rumble of engines and scratching of tires on dirt reaches Jack's ears through the still air, mingling with the low, territorial growl Toothless sends back.

"Arsehole's nae even shuttin' off his lights," Merida scoffs.

"He thinks he doesn't need to. Either he is aware we know he's coming and doesn't care, or he's arrogant enough to want us to see him coming."

Elsa's explanation goes unremarked and unchallenged, for the tension in the air is taut. It's the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the plunge. The moment of peace before war is unleashed. Jack's mind, addled with anticipatory adrenaline, is sharper and more focused than it had ever been.

As the Line forms a position of their namesake, the first cars emerge from the treeline like creatures with yellow eyes crawling out of the darkness. Two eyes become four, four become eight, led by the grandest beast with orbs of bright white.

Jack is silent as the cars press on, tightly gripping his staff, adrenaline pulsing through his body. He gives each of the team a look; Hiccup leans down to soothe Toothless with a stroke over his head whilst Merida draws an arrow from her quiver and nocks it, pulling the string to half-tension. Elsa catches his eye through her elegant masquerade mask, and gives him a slow, respectful nod.

There's a prolonged scraping as five cars brake to a stop, five pairs of glowing orbs bearing down on them. The first of the car doors open, and figures shift behind the artificial light. One. Three. Seven. Twelve. Twenty.

Twenty-four police officers in beat uniforms reveal themselves by the tell-tale caps, some taking position behind the car doors, others standing in front of the cars themselves. Though the lights render their profiles as little more than silhouettes, Jack nurses the strong suspicion their faces are as blank as slate. Twenty-four police officers, all hardened, experienced keepers of the peace, trained to recognise their fear and push through it, now mindless minions of Pitch.

The passenger door to the SUV opens, catching Jack's eyes, and a slender figure emerges, barely visible thanks to the headlights and blackened treeline, unfurling like a snake ready for the kill. He looks different, somehow, like the sharp edges of his black suit had been smoothened out. Long curved lines in place of razor straight ones.

"Can't see shit with their headlights." Jack catches Hiccup's eye, and jerks his head back to the house. "Hiccup, you mind?"

Hiccup nods once, and reaches into a pouch on his right thigh to pull out his trusty smartphone. With a single press of a button, every single light in the house behind them switches on at once. It's not enough to clearly illuminate everything, but the faces belonging to the police officers are discernible, as is their puppeteer. It's enough.

Pitch circles round the front of his SUV, and Jack figures out exactly what's different. Gone is the sharp, tailor-made suit in favour of a flowing robe-like material, with a plunging neckline - _he doesn't have the boobs to carry that look,_ Jack mentally remarks - and the way the robe melts into the darkened road presents the illusion of gliding across the ground. As though Pitch is one with the shadows.

"Well, well!" he calls out. "It looks like I'm not the only one with a penchant for the sartorial!"

"Says the guy wearing a glorified bathrobe!" Jack hollers back.

Pitch's head turns in his direction. "Who are you, again? Oh, that's right. The third wheel."

The sting to his pride causes his body to betray him and lurch forward, intent on beating that smirk off Pitch's face, but a stern call of his name from Elsa stops him short.

"And this must be the elusive dragon!" Pitch gestures in Toothless' direction. "Magnificent beast. Is he friendly?"

Toothless lets out a warning growl, and a faint blue begins to glow along his spine, from the top of his head all the way to his tail. Hiccup has to shout to make himself heard. "Not really. He bites."

As though either proving Hiccup right, or demonstrating he is capable of more, Toothless rears on his hind legs much to Hiccup's yelp of shock. A burst of blue flame shoots from his mouth and explodes a few feet away from Pitch, leaving behind a smouldering patch of glowing embers.

"And he does that."

Pitch, however, doesn't even flinch. He eyes Toothless with an impressed look, and strokes at his pointed chin. "Truly magnificent."

"You can stop with the small talk, Pitch," Elsa calls. "You won't win. This ends here."

Pitch meets Elsa's gaze, and spreads his hands. Playing the approachable, the affable. The hand of kindness hiding the hand of cruelty. "Does it really have to end here? All I want is that necklace. Once I have it, we part ways. I do my thing, you do yours. Surely we can find a way to co-exist?"

"No."

The conviction, the sheer uncompromising fire with which Elsa spreads his hands causes Jack to shoot her a surprised look.

Pitch raises his black eyebrows. "...no?"

"If your overtures of coexistence were sincere… you would not have killed every city's hero."

Pitch utters an ' _ah…'_ and his mouth hangs open as though turning over a rebuttal. "Yes. Well. I can see how that could complicate matters."

"Just a little," Elsa snarks.

"Oh, well." Pitch turns away from them and walks toward the SUV. "I want Snow Queen alive. If any of you do more than wound her, put your gun in your mouth and pull the trigger."

He turns his head over his shoulder.

"Kill the rest."

There's a twenty-four strong shuffle of fabric in startling unison, and Elsa has just enough time to scream "Duck!" and throw up a barrier of thick ice before two dozen cracks and bangs fill the air, rending the silence to pieces. Jack throws his hands up to protect the top of his head from the jagged shards of ice flying over the barrier. He shoots an expectant look over at Elsa, whose eyes squint as she turns her face to avoid the sharp rain of ice, her hands firing filigree jets of winter magic in an attempt to keep the barrier up.

"We can't stay here!" Jack yells.

"He's right!" Merida adds her voice over the cacophony. "We're askin' tae get our arses flanked inta next week!"

"I know!" Elsa shouts. "As soon as they stop to reload, Moonlight and Night Fury, you two will fly up and draw their fire! Once that happens, Red, you will neutralize the cops, and I'll freeze the cars so Pitch can't escape. Everyone clear?"

Jack shifts into crouch. His legs coil like a spring, and he feathers a hand on the ground ready to launch. One quick glance at Hiccup, and Toothless' wings are already in position for a rapid ascent.

"On my mark!"

Jack's hand tightens around the staff, and prays he's fast enough - or it'll be a real short trip.

The gunfire ceases as quickly as it started, an effect of the officers all firing at the same time, and the last of the ice shards sprays over their heads.

"Mark!"

Toothless lets out a challenging roar, and Jack shoots straight up into the air at such a blistering speed, his stomach makes friends with his feet. Sharply levelling off, he peers down at the battlefield, where two dozen pairs of eyes follow his every move.

"Fire in tha hole!"

He hears the faint thud of metal on metal, and averts his eyes just in time before Merida's flashbang arrows detonate. Those that haven't taken cover behind the car doors cower in pain, yelping as their eyes and ears punish them for their sluggishness.

The rest, however, recover quickly and take aim. His heart shooting into his mouth, Jack enters a stomach-lurching dive toward the closest officer on the far left of the barricade. The man yelps in shock as Jack lands, grabs the back of his collar and takes off again in the space of a second, and a black shadow passes underneath as Toothless divebombs the others, forcing them to duck.

The officer's hands frantically scratch and claw at Jack's fingers. Hissing with the sudden pain, Jack swoops down low enough to drop him without harm, then swings a wide arc to aim a momentum-boosted punch to his forehead as the beleaguered officer scrambles to his feet.

"Sorry about that," he winces as the poor man crumples to the ground. Poor guy probably woke up this morning hoping to get his shift done so he could get right back into bed, not get mind-controlled by an ancient avatar of fear and be punched out by a superhero.

Jack takes to the air again and quickly scans the situation; the gunfire is sporadic and all over the place, with the cops either trying to shoot Toothless down or shooting at Elsa through a shield of ice she's conjured to protect her while she closes the distance. Several officers writhe and jerk on the floor, unfortunate recipients of Merida's taser arrows. Three officers on the other end of the blockade circle their car and take aim at Elsa's left flank, but Jack is treated to the sight of an arrow latching itself to the middle officer's chest, just before two thin tendrils shoot out from the shaft and connect to the cops either side of him, sending several thousand volts of pain and non-lethal incapacitation into their bodies.

Pitch? He barely lifts a finger, seemingly content to watch the chaos around him.

One by one the officers fall, whether by Merida's arrows, Jack's punches or a healthy slam of Elsa's shield to the face. The five cars are rendered immobile thanks to an inch of solid ice coating the wheels, and as far as Jack can tell, the team has sustained no injuries. He touches down next to Elsa, who watches Pitch with a wary eye as she dissipates her shield with a flick of her left hand.

The slapping of skin on skin fills the air - Pitch is _applauding_ them.

"Bravo! Bravo!" he cheers, clapping as he pushes himself up from the bonnet of the SUV, looking thoroughly entertained. "Well done! I must say, that was captivating to watch. Truly captivating. God, I haven't had entertainment like that in _years!"_

Unsettled by his unfazed behaviour to the fact his army is out for the count, Jack casts a look at Elsa.

"It's over, Pitch," she declares.

Pitch reaches into his pockets, causing Jack to automatically tense in preparation to tackle him, yet all he produces is a pair of black leather gloves. "Yes, well," he sighs as he slips them over his hands, "I suppose the old adage is true. If you want something done right - do it yourself."

It happens before Jack can react. Pitch's left hand darts out in their direction, and black sand hurtles toward them at blinding speed. The particles scrape and cut at the exposed skin of his face, and he shuts his eyes as the impact knocks him, and judging by two feminine groans of pain, Elsa and Merida to the ground. Dazed, Jack furiously attempts to wipe the sand from his face with one hand as he tries to get up with the other.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Pitch throw a tendril of sand like a whip toward something in the air. The 'cord' tenses, and Pitch promptly yanks it down toward them with only one hand.

"What goes up," the entity cackles, "must come down!"

Jack catches a glimpse of something huge and black hurtling at him with blistering speed, shrieking in anguish. Reacting quickly, with his heart in his mouth, he scrambles to his feet and throws himself aside just as the black object crashes to the ground with a sickening crunch and a roar of agony.

His world spinning, it takes Jack a few moments to realise just _what_ the black object was… or rather, _who._

"Toothless!" Jack yells.

Toothless struggles to his paws, his mouth emitting heartbreaking cries and roars of agony, only to stumble sideways and crash onto his left side. Jack feels his stomach churn at the sight of Toothless' right wing - the bones are at awkward angles, with some jagged points piercing through the thin hide, and the opaque black membrane hangs limply between the broken skeletal framework.

Abandoning the moment, with the flurry of Elsa's ice bolts in the background, Jack sprints as hard as his legs can carry him. Toothless lets out a terrible whine that stabs at Jack's very soul as he tries to spread the crumpled wing, his eyes radiating one message to Jack: " _Help me!"_

Jack drops to his knees just by the downed dragon, trying to ignore the twitching of the broken wing. "Hey, big guy," he forces a smile to hide the panic at how easily Pitch took down a _fucking dragon,_ "it's gonna be okay. Yo, Fury, what—"

It's then that he discovers what else is wrong with this picture - Hiccup is not on the saddle. Jack's head darts around, his eyes frantically searching the darkened surroundings for any sign of the fallen rider, calling his name at the top of his voice.

"I got him, laddie," comes Merida's yell.

Jack focuses on the direction of Merida's call. She approaches him from several yards away, her gait heavy and weighed down by something.

That _something,_ upon closer inspection, being Hiccup, slung over her right shoulder whilst her bow is grasped by her left hand. Archers truly do have great upper body strength, it seems. She drops to her knees beside Jack, and carefully lays Hiccup on the floor beside Toothless - whose scaly yet feline face has abandoned all expression of agony in favour of deep worry.

"He's alive, but unconscious. Laddie fell from quite a height when tha big guy got yanked. Impact broke his arm."

Merida directs with a gesture Jack's attention to Hiccup's right arm, where the forearm is at an angle it should not be, and a lump pokes under the material of his sleeve. Compound fracture, by the looks of things.

There's a yell of his name from behind him. Jack's head whips to the source, and is treated to one hell of a sight - thick, sparkling streams of ice burst out at impressive speed from both of Elsa's hands, meeting a terrifying, sustained blast of black sand from Pitch in the middle. Shards of ice and waves of sand spray out from where their powers connect. Elsa drops to a knee, uttering cries of exertion as Pitch's sand begins to push her back.

"Take Hiccup back to the house," Jack tells Merida. "Toothless will go with you. Make sure he's okay - and be ready."

Merida bends to sling Hiccup's inert form over her shoulder. "What about you?"

"I dunno." Jack rises to his feet, turns toward the ongoing battle, and coils his legs ready to leap. "Probably misbehave."

For all Elsa's power, power that dwarfs the rest of the Line in terms of raw potential, she's outmatched. Even the fury of winter can't hold back the wrath of fear itself. Leaping into flight, Jack prepares to take some of the pressure off Elsa the only way he knows how - by being an irritating little shit.

"Yo, Nightmare King!" he yells, throwing an arc of frost-tricity past Pitch's head to get his attention. "Got a question for you!"

Pitch doesn't take his attention from Elsa for a second. "What?"

"If you've been around for so long, you've seen all these fashion trends come and go, right?" Another frost blast is sent his way, one Pitch deflects with a blast of sand without even looking. "How come, after all that, you're wearing a glorified _bathrobe?"_

 _That_ got his attention. Pitch snaps his eyes up to Jack as he circles around him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard!" Jack cackles. "You look like Hugh Hefner's edgy twin! I mean, all you need is some hair rollers and slippers, and you _might_ actually look scary!"

For the briefest of seconds Jack catches a glimpse of Pitch's eyes widening in anger, before a blast of sand forces him to sharply dive. "He shoots! Oh, and the crowd goes _mild_!"

It's enough for the pressure on Elsa to be relieved, and soon Pitch is fighting off attacks from both sides. Jack fires bolts whenever Elsa relocates to a new position, allowing her time to breathe and focus, and her jets of frost allow Jack to swoop, dive, blast and generally annoy the everloving shit out of him. Merida once likened his hit-and-fly attack style to a mosquito, and she's right. Annoy someone enough, and eventually they have to devote time and attention to dealing with you.

Which, to Jack's reluctant credit, Pitch is handling well.

Another blast of sand is sent his way. Jack casually leans back to let it whizz past his face, and yells, "Suh-wing and a miss!"

"Big mouth, big target," Pitch snarls, effortlessly blocking a jet of ice from behind him.

"Tell you what, I'll give you a free shot." Jack grasps his staff with both hands and holds it ready over his right shoulder, hovering steady in the air. "Batter up!"

Pitch utters an unintelligible growl, and in his clawed hand manifests a swirling ball of sand. With viper speed, the ball is hurled straight at Jack's face - smirking, Jack takes an immaculately timed swing.

The instant the staff connects with the ball of sand, Jack's powers coursing through the wood freeze the ball into a hard, solid mass of ice and sand before the impact sends it straight back… into Pitch's face.

The Nightmare King howls in anguish as the misshapen sphere of icy sand collides with his nose, hard enough to shatter and splinter into a thousand pieces. Snarling, he doubles over and claws at his eyes, furiously attempting to remove the particles lodged there. Jack quickly glances up at the house; no sign of an emerald-clad archer anywhere in sight. Merida must still be indisposed.

He takes his chance.

Turning his body as straight as a javelin, Jack darts low to the ground, bearing straight for the stooped Pitch. He curls his torso inwards and slams his shoulder into Pitch's chest, causing a winded cry from his target and one hell of a jarring sensation throughout Jack's ribs.

"Moonlight!" he hears Elsa yell.

Ignoring the odd rattling sensation coursing through his internal organs, Jack grabs with one hand the lapels of Pitch's _glorified-bathrobe_ and summons one hell of a burst of wind to take them both into the air. His quarry in hand, Jack soars in a vertical course at speed, high enough for the array of downed officers to look like those little soldiers in the toy shops he used to frequent.

Pitch seems to have gotten over his momentary blindness, as Jack feels a pair of _way-too-long_ hands grip his forearm like a vice. "What are you doing?!"

Jack looks down at him, and hopes the menacing smirk is accurately conveyed by his eyes. "When you took down Toothless, you had a great one-liner. Thing is, mine's better. The bigger they are…"

He wrests his arm loose of Pitch's grasp.

"...the harder they fall."

Pitch's eyes widen, and he lets out a roar as gravity takes its hold, his hands flailing and scramble for something, _anything_ to grab. Not content to simply let him fall, Jack dives at him. Pitch's body arcs inwards with the impact of Jack's fists against his chest, and at breakneck speed, the unforgiving ground rushes up to meet him.

* * *

It's both awe-inspiring and terrifying to see, like two cars about to crash in on each other. Paralysed by the sight, Elsa can only watch as Jack slams Pitch into the earth like a white meteor. A deafening _thoom_ shatters the air, and an explosion of icy black sand into the raging wind forces her to throw her hands up to protect her eyes.

And then, aside from the howling wind, all is quiet.

"Jack!"

Nothing. No answer.

Elsa's legs kick into gear, quickly carrying her to ground zero. The raging wind, circling the impact site, kicks up the sand and swirls in a slow whirlwind - it fills her heart with hope that despite that stupid move, Jack is alright.

As she closes in, a figure emerges from the fluid-like whirlwind, unrecognizable against the darkness. Their gait is heavy on their right, walking with a limp, and a hand cradles the right side of their chest. Elsa's heart stalls in her throat as she freezes in step, and her hands tingle with the charging of her power.

And then the moonlight emerges from the clouds, and bathes the person in a revealing glow.

"Jack!" she gasps, and bolts toward him.

He manages a weak smile, having lost his mask in the impact. "Hey, Snow Queen."

She reaches him, skidding to a halt, and begins to gingerly touch him as her eyes give him the once-over in worry. "Are you okay? That was a stupid—"

Her sentence breaks off when her left hand finds the side of his chest he'd been cradling, causing him to utter a heavy wince. "You're hurt…"

"I'll be okay…" he says in a strangled voice, and a step on the wrong foot caused him to lean heavily in Elsa's arms, "...but this won't be."

Jack's left shoulder moves, and Elsa follows his eyes as he looks down at his left hand.

A gasp escapes her lips. His staff… snapped in two. He's powerless.

"At least," she gulps, and looks back into his eyes, trying to ignore the realisation that three of the Line were out of action as she cups his face, "at least you're okay. That's what matters."

Jack smiles down at her, but what moment's peace there is vanishes when a tendril of black sand leashes itself around his neck. Jack's smile twists into a grimace, and Elsa utters a strangled cry and futilely reaches for him as he is ripped from her embrace straight back, twenty feet away.

Pitch emerges from the whirlwind of sand, and a stab of fear hits Elsa's heart all the harder at the sight of absolutely _no_ damage to him. His hand grasps Jack's hair, gripping it tightly as the weakened hero falls to his knees, panic in his eyes.

"When is it going to click in your thick, _human_ brains that you can't kill me?!" he yells. "Do you need a pie chart, or something? Maybe a pop-up book with pretty little pictures?!"

He jerks the hand holding Jack by his white hair, causing a yelp of pain.

"I don't control fear, I _am_ fear _incarnate!_ Don't you see? The more fear in the world, the stronger I am - and the world is _rank_ with it _!_ Look around you - people are terrified! Of terrorists, their guns and their bombs! Of speaking out, or remaining silent! Fear of their leaders ushering in a nuclear war, of what some moron they never knew might think of them! I am more powerful now than I have ever been - and you thought that little stunt would stop me?"

A black object materialises in his right hand, and Elsa's heart freezes with the chill of fear in her spine when she makes it out - a long, vicious-looking black knife. Jack struggles against the grip, his eyes wide and locked onto the blade.

"You did hurt me. Full marks for that," Pitch snarls, "but that's the last mistake you'll ever make."

The blade darts down to rest against Jack's throat.

"Wait!" Elsa screams, reaching out toward them. "Wait!"

Pitch's eyes find hers. A malevolent, joyless smile curls his lips. "Well, well. Someone's scared of losing their precious boyfriend."

"You're right," Elsa says in a hoarse voice, nodding far too vigorously for her neck to appreciate, "I'm _terrified._ Don't kill him. _Please_."

Pitch snorts. The blade doesn't budge. "Pleading for mercy? From _me?_ You must be truly desperate."

"I am," Elsa's hand moves to the collar of her suit. Two fingers dive inside, and hook around the chain of her necklace, drawing it out into the air. Good thing, too; the pressure of the 'gem' against her ribs was unbearable. "Desperate enough to offer a trade."

Pitch eyes the necklace as she holds it out toward him. "As easy as that, hmm? You would give me the necklace, just like that?"

"In exchange for the life of whom I love? There is no decision-making process here. Let him live - and you can take it. Better yet—here!"

She winds her arm back, and tosses the necklace to Pitch in an underarm throw. As she hopes, Pitch relinquishes his grasp of Jack to catch it, who promptly and hastily scrambles the distance toward her.

Lowering her arm, Elsa waits. Pitch must have had the confidence - or arrogance - to believe he would be victorious, as his black leather gloves protect him from the gem's effects. Though the fear coursing inside her has her pulse racing and her heart punching a hole in her ribs, she mentally thanks her luck; those same gloves prevent him from realising the truth.

"Jack," she murmurs, her eyes fixed upon Pitch as he holds the necklace up to admire it, "go and get Merida."

"What about—"

"I'll be fine. Go."

She feels Jack's two-second gaze, senses his worry radiating from him, but he does as told nonetheless. Elsa listens out for his footsteps, ensuring he's not about to double back - too much hinges on the next few moments. Slowly, she begins to circle Pitch; wary like prey.

"So much violence and destruction over such a little thing," Pitch says in a quiet, thoughtful voice.

"That necklace has brought me nothing but pain and misery," Elsa says, and a part of her is alarmed at the sincerity with which she speaks, "You can have it."

Pitch looks at her, his eyebrows raised as though considering her words. "Even though it gave you such power?"

By now, Elsa's circling of him has him between her and the house. Two lights flash from the main doors. "Power at too great a cost is not power, but a burden. If I could trade my powers for a normal life, I would do so in a heartbeat."

Pitch utters a noncommittal hum, cocking his head slightly - though the malevolent smirk that curls his lips sends a clenching sensation through Elsa's gut. "In that case, I'm about to grant you your wish."

Before Elsa can react, the wind is ripped from her lungs as a sand-whip wraps around her waist and yanks her flying a dozen feet toward him. The instant she is within reach, his hand darts out and encloses around her neck. Her legs dangling and flailing a foot above the ground, she grips his wrist with both hands as he squeezes her throat.

"You're about to have your precious normal life - and will get to spend the rest of it, powerless to stop me as I kill your friends one by one." The hand holding the necklace rips off her masquerade mask by two fingers, and holds the gem before her forehead. "Now, shall we begin?"

Pitch slams the gem against her forehead with enough force to make her cry out, pain rattling through her skull and teeth. He holds it against her skin as the seconds go by. Three. Five. Ten.

His brow furrows, and he lifts the gem away, peering in confusion at its reflective surface. Even through the pain wrapped around her throat, Elsa manages a smile at the sight of him even _shaking_ it like a bottle of sauce, before slapping it to her forehead once more.

"Huh," he blinks, puzzled. "This is supposed to work…"

"Well," Elsa rasps, her throat red raw with the constriction, "Performance issues. One out of five, I hear."

It doesn't take long for Pitch to twig her meaning, and his eyes widen in anger. Uttering a feral roar, he throws her to the ground, and Elsa feels the hard soil bite into her left side as the wind is knocked out of her. Vision blurry, hoarse coughs wrack her lungs, and she manages to look up at him. Framed by the moonlight, like a dark void consuming all light, he towers over her.

"Fine," he snarls, and the dagger materialises once again in his hand. "We'll do this the old fashioned way."

The dagger draws back, and does not move.

The sound of a wet _thunk_ reaches Elsa's ears like the song of perfect timing. Pitch's body arcs backwards, and a howl of agony rings out as the dagger tumbles from his grasp. He drops to his knees, face contorted with shock and pain - and behind him, Merida and Jack stride toward them with purpose and vengeance.

"Aaa-owch! What, what the—" he cranes to look over his shoulder, "—an _arrow?!_ Seriously?!"

"Not just any arrow." Elsa pushes herself to her feet, and eyes him with contempt.

"One we made just for you, tipped with the Heart of Winter," Jack says, his voice low and satisfied. Merida bends down to murmur something in Pitch's ear loud enough for Elsa to hear.

"Tha woman in tha red dress sends her regards."

Pitch's chest begins to heave, and his arms scramble behind him to reach the arrow - it's futile, as Merida's impeccable aim has lodged it right where he can't grasp it. His eyes widen, and Elsa feels a deep sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that the avatar of fear is feeling a rather _human_ chill in his spine.

His jaw loosens further, and his panicked eyes dart left and right. "T-that was—"

"Fake?" Elsa kneels to pick up the necklace discarded when Pitch decided ' _to do things the old-fashioned way'._ "Yes."

"Y-you… you tricked me… your grandmother would never trick me…"

"That was _your_ error." Elsa leans in, expression cold and eyes hard. "I am not my grandmother."

Pitch doesn't reply. Something to with, Elsa presumes, the sight of his fingers beginning to dissolve into black sand and shadow as he holds his trembling hands before him, eyes agape with terror. The peculiarity of it all? How the sand loops over him in two long streams toward the arrow embedded in his spine.

"This isn't fair…"

Terror that becomes anger, an indignant fury as he gnashes his teeth, glaring daggers at Elsa. "You can't get rid of me! Not forever—there will _always_ be fear!"

"Maybe there will," Jack says. "But you won't be there to feed on it."

Whatever rebuttal there is in Pitch's throat dies as his hands fully disappear into the stream of shadow, along with the upper part of his shoulders, and the top of his head. The dissolution of his body then kicks into overdrive, and though the satisfaction of a well-earned victory sits happily in her heart, Elsa's stomach turns at the sight of the Nightmare King literally falling apart into tendrils that get wider by the second - and the deep scream of terror vanishes into the wind as his head is fully claimed.

Before long, the rest of his body disintegrates, and empty space exists where Pitch Black once did. The arrow hovers in the air for a split second before dropping unceremoniously to the ground.

Merida pulls off her red mask, and as she kneels, she uses the fabric to pick the arrow up by its fletching. Rising to her feet, she holds it up for all to see.

"Hunh," she murmurs. The gem is black as the sky, absorbing any and all light - not even its myriad facets are visible.

The three stand in silence, with Elsa mentally processing the events of the past few hours in a state of _we-really-did-it_ shock, and how they culminated in something the White Witch could not accomplish: the defeat of the Nightmare King.

Elsa feels a pair of hands on her upper arms, and soon her distant gaze rests upon her love with icy blue eyes and ivory hair. Worry sits behind his regarding of her.

"You okay?"

Elsa blinks, and slowly nods. "Yes. I'm fine."

Jack cranes his head down a little; not quite convinced, judging by the way his dark eyebrows become one with his hair. "You sure? Because you just gave up your best chance at a normal life."

Elsa doesn't respond. Not instantly, at least. It was the unspoken knowledge she'd had at the back of her mind ever since she thought of the plan with Hiccup, that if the gem were to be used to imprison the so-called Nightmare King, then she could never find a way to return her powers to it. Her destiny as the Snow Queen would be sealed.

Of course, the battle had all but banished the knowledge to the back of her mind - no use fretting if she wasn't going to make it out alive.

Yet, there she stands, alive and victorious. All hope of ever being ' _normal'_ again vanishing into memory. Forever she would wield the power of winter itself.

And to her quiet surprise… Elsa discovers something she never thought she would: she is at peace with it.

"I know," she says in a soft voice, "but if the price of saving the world from Pitch was my chance at a normal life… then it was a price worth paying. After all…"

Her right hand reaches up to caress his left cheek.

"...how else will I be able to keep up with you?"

Jack's face softens from a concerned frown into a smile of pure warmth. Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead in, and Elsa gladly rests hers against it.

"Y'know," Merida begins abruptly, sounding far more awkward than usual, "I'm jus' gonna go put this arrow somewhere. A box, maybe."

As Merida's steps take her away, Elsa can still hear her rambling to herself .her voice shrinking the further she walks. "Aye, a box. Then put tha box in a safe. Mebbe stick tha safe in a vault. An' then drop tha vault in tha ocean or summat. Aye, that'll do. Throw meself in there while I'm at it."

Elsa titters to herself; Merida could never handle public displays of affection. She casts a sidelong glance at the archer's receding figure, chuckling at how, despite her rambling being too far away to discern, her free hand gestures wildly in the air.

"So," Elsa says, turning her attention back to Jack and pulling back her head to look into his eyes, "the Heart of Winter, huh?"

Jack winces, his hand scratching shyly at the nape of his neck. "...yeah. Sounded cooler in my head."

Chuckling, Elsa tweaks his nose. "I like it."

Maybe if she had personalised the gem with a name all those years ago, she might not have so readily resented it.

"I guess we'll have to call it the Heart of Shadow, now."

"Okay, now you're pushing it."

Jack chuckles out loud. "Sorry. So, what now?"

Elsa thinks for a moment, but the sound of groans and stirring reaches her ears. One by one, as she watches, the police officers are coming to. Most of them clutching their heads.

"Now…" she sighs, "now we have a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

 **6/7**

 **OGaV coming soon.**


	7. Chapter 7

" **The Line 7"**

The heavy oak door to the Police Commissioner's office opens with a thick clunk that echoes through the nearby halls of Arendelle Police Plaza, stirring to mind period movies of opulent homes and elegantly dressed actors, and Jack darts to his feet. He'd been waiting patiently on the uncomfortable oak chairs outside of the office for Elsa, under her Snow Queen guise, to finish her meeting with the commissioner regarding the events outside Hiccup's condo, and why twenty four officers began their shift in the precinct only to find themselves coming to in the middle of nowhere, several dozen miles from the city.

His thumb strokes over the scarring in his staff, a remnant of the battle and a result of his attempt to repair it with his powers and sheer force of will. It had taken him a good few tries, but eventually the wood held strong, though it would never be the same. Anxiety playing at the back of his mind, hushed voices reach his ears, though no words are discernible.

Seconds later, Elsa exits the office, clad in her carbon fiber suit and trench coat. Her eyes meet his, and radiate a seriousness behind her masquerade mask that sinks Jack's heart, try as he might to hide it behind a jovial smile.

"So," he begins, and his worry is betrayed by the crack in his voice, "how did it go? Are we in detention?"

Elsa closes the door behind her and waves it off. "Not here."

Frowning, Jack tries to ignore the insidious sensation of foreboding settling in his gut. He steps toward her and holds a comforting hand against her right upper arm. "O-kay… is something wrong?"

"No, no." Elsa shakes her head, though a little too vigorously for Jack's liking. "I just… I want to be somewhere private. Somewhere I can take off this mask."

Jack lets his sigh of relief come out in a small breath. "Okay. Not a problem. Where do you wanna go?"

Elsa's lips quirk in a lopsided smile, anxious. "Your place?"

" _My_ place?" Jack lets out a scoffing chuckle. "Sure, but it's a disaster zone."

Elsa shrugs, the rise and fall of her shoulders giving off an air of weariness. "I don't care. I just want to be somewhere safe."

Jack squeezes her arm, and gives her his best smile of reassurance. "Okay. My place it is."

* * *

It takes a ten minute flight, a nifty change into normal clothes in the stairwell leading to the roof of Jack's apartment block, and a sneaky shimmying down the external fire escape to avoid the nosy Mrs Bates, but eventually they reach the safety of Jack's apartment. Such is the price of keeping one's identity secret.

Jack holds up the window with one hand while assisting Elsa as she clambers through with the other, letting it slide shut once she's through.

"So, uh," he begins awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he gestures around the apartment. It hasn't changed much since she was last here, he reckons. "Drink? I have water and… well, water."

Elsa is already disrobing from her coat. "Water is fine, thank you."

Jack mutters an ' _okay'_ and quickly shuffles off to the kitchen in the corner of the living room, trying not to think about how she's probably casting a critical eye over the apartment. It's been a few years since she's been here, and let's face it - the place hasn't changed much.

Not that he's home much, of course, a pointed fact reinforced by the inhalation of breath to ask if Elsa wants some orange juice, only to find the carton in his hands he procured from the fridge is well beyond its expiration date and just called him Steve.

"Y'know," he calls from the kitchen, electing to _not_ give his girlfriend poisoning and grabbing some unused glasses from the cupboard above the sink, "there's something I never quite understood."

Elsa's voice comes back from the vicinity of the bathroom, and Jack winces. There be dragons in that there room. "What's that?"

Jack turns the faucet, and the spray of water shoots down into the glasses. "How come Pitch never tried to control us, or people like us? I figure if he had you or me under his spell, he'd be unstoppable. Well… _more_ unstoppable. If that's, y'know, even a thing."

"I have wondered that myself," Elsa answers, her voice appearing much closer. As Jack turns, clutching the two glasses, she's making her way back into the living room. "I can only theorise."

"Like what?"

Elsa flops down on the couch - if you can call it that - and pulls off her masquerade mask. "You and I are effectively magical, as was my grandmother. So, either people like us undergo physiological changes enabling us to be resistant to his control, or, and this I find more likely, our line of work requires us to control and conquer our fear."

"Like the cops, paramedics and fire officers - when everyone else runs away from danger, we run toward it," Jack says, parking himself beside her and offering her drink.

Elsa takes the glass from him and raises it slightly in agreement. "Precisely."

Jack takes a sip and smacks his mouth. "And yet he was still able to take control of those cops."

"Then it is fortunate he did not touch Merida and Hiccup, as we would be, to borrow a turn-of-phrase, boned."

Fortunate isn't the word. Merida knocked his ass out of the sky whilst _not_ trying to hurt him. The idea of her actively trying to kill him sends a shiver down his spine, and a welcome sense of relief that events didn't follow that particular path.

"So how _did_ the meeting go?"

Elsa lets out a long breath through her nose, gazing through the worn patches in the ugly brown carpet as though they were portals to another realm. "As far as the police are concerned, we are in the clear."

Jack twists in his position to properly face her, resting his left elbow on the back of the couch with his head against his loose fist. "Really? They bought the whole Nightmare King story?"

"Had it been just us telling the commissioner, no. We would have been laughed out of the office and promptly arrested… but as it happens, we have others backing up our explanation."

Elsa takes a sip, and then holds the glass with both hands on her lap. "As I understand from reading my grandmother's notes and observations, Pitch's control over people is indefinite - but it does require periodic top-ups, so to speak, or his influence begins to wane. When we trapped him in the gem, his control over everyone abruptly ceased. Once that happened, the police were suddenly inundated with over a dozen nine-one-one calls from a certain restaurant in Venicetown."

"Where we ran into Pitch," Jack murmurs.

Elsa nods. "From what the commissioner told me, the statements taken from each customer all reported an inability to recall anything between the hours of midnight and six in the morning… and they _all_ mentioned the last thing they saw before their memories failed was a grey-skinned man with golden eyes. When you add those stories to the statements of the officers Pitch brought with him to Hiccup's condo, our explanation of the events was the last piece of the puzzle the commissioner needed to understand. As far as he is concerned, we are not responsible."

Jack's hand moves away from his head to rest along the backrest. Without looking, Elsa automatically shifts to her side so her head can rest against his shoulder. "So what was the meeting about, then, if not to give us hell?"

"To thank us," Elsa says with a weary voice. "In the commissioner's mind, allowing such an entity as Pitch to roam free would be catastrophic for the world. He always kept humanity teetering on the edge of destruction, only to pull us back at the last moment in order to feed off the apex of fear. He was also grateful that we exercised restraint when dealing with his compromised officers."

"So why do you sound like someone ate your last slice of chocolate cake?"

Elsa utters a mirthless chuckle, a scoff. "While the commissioner was thanking us, I felt this—this emptiness, this _guilt._ I couldn't help but wonder: what if _we_ are the problem?"

"Us?"

"We are strong, Jack. The Line is _strong_. Our strength invites darker forces to challenge us." Her free hand makes a circular gesture. "When we are challenged, we court chaos… and with chaos comes disaster. When we roam the city, dismantling arms dealers, drug dealers, criminals… we unknowingly attract darkness to our streets. Darkness seeking to test itself against us. We opened the door… and a few days ago, Pitch walked through, and sixty people paid the price. Our city deserves better."

Jack twists further in his seat, so much so his entire body faces her. Gently, he takes two of his fingers and lifts her chin to face him. Her eyes find his, and behind the startling, beautiful blues there's an inherent sadness, a weariness that only someone with the weight of the world on their shoulders can have. "But that's not our fault. We can't— _you_ can't—be held responsible for what bad guys do." He shrugs lightly. "Bad guys do bad things, and we stop them."

Elsa frowns. Her eyes drift away to the Land of Thought, a pensive look that brings a hollow thump to Jack's heart. "Perhaps - but it does little to discourage a pervasive feeling I've been unable to shake for a long time."

"What feeling?"

"That I don't want to do this anymore." Her eyes meet his, and he discovers a resolute glimmer in amongst the weariness. "I want a life, Jack. I want a life to call my own. I want to wake up in the morning and _choose_ what to wear. I want to have time to myself, to just _listen_ to the city go by. I want to see my sister more often - did you know she is expecting her second baby, and I've barely had time to be around for her first?"

"No, I didn't."

It hits Jack how free he is, or at least, feels. He has no family to speak of, unlike the rest of the team, and so there's no-one who would really miss him. No stress over where to devote his time, no guilt for missing opportunities for moments with loved ones. He's a superhero all the live long day.

But… what if?

"Listen," he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

Elsa looks up at him and throws up a perplexed eyebrow. "For what?"

"For walking out like I did. Abandoning the team. There were a million better, more mature ways I could have handled it, but I threw my toys out of the pram. I put my own pride and ego ahead of the team, and because of that, we fell apart. I should have been more thoughtful." Jack lets out a long, regretful breath through his nose. "So, I'm sorry."

"Ah." Elsa's lips quirk into an awkward, half-wincing smile. "Well, I think that situation could have been handled better by all parties involved."

Jack's eyes fall as he murmurs, "Maybe."

A finger traces across his jawline, and as he looks up, he finds the smiling face of Elsa, his one true love radiating nothing but warmth and companionship back at him. "But for what it's worth… I'm glad we're back together. I… didn't realise how much I missed having the gang back until we were all around that table. Having you… and my friends, it was… nice."

"Yeah…" Jack winces, and an awkward sensation settles in his gut as he scratches the nape of his neck. "...about that…"

Elsa's face falls, and a suspicious, uncertain frown crosses her eyebrows. "You're not leaving again, are you?"

"What?' Jack's eyes go wide, and his head shakes so vigorously his neck throws him a few choice words. "No! No, no. Not like that."

"Then what? Tell me."

Jack glances once into her eyes, and his lips undergo a sideways quirk as a deep breath is taken, and exhaled, through his nose. "While you were in the commissioner's office, Merida swung by. I guess she wanted to tell you herself, but… you'd only just gone through the door."

"Tell me what?"

Jack's eyes find hers, and linger with a heavy look.

"Merida's retiring."

Elsa practically knocks the couch over with how abruptly she pushes herself up into a seated position. She stares in disbelief at him, mouth agape. " _What?"_

"Yeah. She said she'd been thinking about it for a while. Said she'd done her part, that she had given the city enough of her blood, sweat and tears."

"She's really… doing it?"

Jack shrugs in a _what-can-you-do_ way. "Yep. You ask me, I think what happened to Rosaline - the woman in the restaurant - hit her harder than she thought. Merida's always been the one in control of her life, y'know? With Pitch… she saw what it's like to have _no_ control."

"She has always been the master of her own destiny," Elsa murmurs in thought. "But… that'll split the team again."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

She recoils, and looks at him like he just insulted the glory that is chocolate cake. Of course, Jack is more partial to meringue desserts, but that's neither here nor there. "After all that's happened—"

"Hear me out, Elsa." Jack holds up a hand. "You've given so much to protect this city. We all have. Hiccup has sunk _millions_ into his hero stuff. I basically live off free food from grateful shopkeepers. You…"

Jack strokes the side of her face. She slowly blinks, and leans into his touch.

"You've never had the chance to be an aunt. The city deserves better, yeah, but… so do we. We've done our part. We've given the city so much of our lives… maybe it's time we took some of our lives for ourselves. The normal life you always wanted. Always deserved."

"But what if something bad happens?"

Jack takes the glass from her hands, and places it with his glass on the floor, so he can take her hands in his. "Then we'll deal with it. Together. We just leave the other stuff to the cops. Y'know, whose _purpose_ it is to deal with the situations we basically took over for all these years. When the big threats come, the ones they can't handle? We'll be there."

Elsa's lips purse as her brows furrow in thought, and her eyes dance every which way as her mind visibly ticks over.

"I… I need time to think on this."

Jack nods, stroking circles into her knuckles with his thumbs. He reassures her with a reminder that it's just an idea and he'll be at her side no matter what, and before long, conversations turn to happier topics like his escapades when he worked solo. Not long after that, a declaration of love becomes a kiss, which in turn becomes a passionate embrace… and the rest is conducted in more comfortable, bedroom surroundings.

As Jack lays under the scratchy, coarse excuse for a comforter, the rhythmic and slow breathing of a slumbering Elsa caressing his ears, staring at the ugly cream ceiling with its ubiquitous patches of peeling paint, he wonders.

What if he didn't have to be a hero anymore?

* * *

All the deep breaths in the world can't assuage the nervous tightness gripping Elsa's entire damn being as she stands around the corner of the royal blue drawn curtain. Dozens of reporters are waiting on the other side. Dozens of cameras, of notepads and tablets, pens and voices. Her masquerade mask feels like it's squeezing her brain, her nails etching curved marks into her palms. Not to mention her thudding, racing heart.

This is ridiculous. She has walked into battle against terrifying foes. Rescued innocent civilians under a hail of bullets. Hell, she once stopped a stolen _tank_ by conjuring an ice ramp under its left tracks, forcing it to flip onto its side.

And yet, this press conference days after her conversation in Jack's apartment terrifies her far more than anything. Bad guys do bad things, and you can predict that. There's a sense of consistency, of predictability, of - dare she think it - _routine_ when it comes to tangling with villains. When it comes to members of the press, of the public? Whole different ball game.

"You okay?"

Jack's voice finds her through the haze of noise like a spirit called home, and though it does not vanquish her anxiety… it lessens it.

And she loves him for that.

"Not really," she murmurs in a croaky, arid voice. "but let's get this over with."

Without giving herself a moment's hesitation, Elsa commands her legs to take her onward, around the curtain, with Jack, Merida and Hiccup in tow.

As expected, dozens of faces snap to her direction. Most of the reporters jump to their feet, with cameras inexorably pointed at her, and for a few moments all Elsa can see is a blanket of flashing white. Of course, this isn't her first press conference… but it _is_ the first of this nature. Elsa's steps take her to the modern-looking lectern, and she stands with regal poise. Upright, shoulders back, proud. Jack takes position at her left, whilst Hiccup and Merida stand at her right.

The bustling noise reaches its apex. Now or never. Raising a hand, Elsa calms the sea of voices, and waits until the last butt has met its seat.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Usually we hold such conferences after days of planning, so for you all to be here… we are grateful."

Elsa inhales a lungful through her nose - ordinarily she'd have a prepared script, one checked five times over before even past the first draft. Now, she's ' _pulling a Moonlight'_ and winging it.

"When we look at heroes… we see hope. When I look at Mr Incredible, I see strength. Mrs Incredible, defiance. Megamind-" she utters an amused chuckle, "-I see dramatic flair. We see the best of us in them, doing the things we never could… but sometimes? Sometimes the heroic identities they wear cause us to define them by those identities. Sometimes we forget those heroes are _people_ too."

Elsa shoots Jack a glance, and his brow rises with curiosity.

"I'm going to take off my mask," she whispers.

Jack's eyes go wide, and he leans in with surprise. "What? Are you crazy?"

"It's the only way they'll understand."

For once, Jack seems bereft of a response. He hesitates briefly, as though turning over a rebuttal in his mind, but eventually concedes with a nod. Turning to look at Hiccup and Merida, she opens her mouth to repeat herself… but they already know. Two nods is all it takes.

Casting her eyes over the collection of reporters, she declares, " _We_ are people, too."

And with that, her right hand finds the clasp against the back of her head, and the mask is unfastened. Dozens of heads suddenly jump up as though someone ran a bolt of electricity through their chairs, and the barrage of camera flashes renew their assault. Colourful spots dance across Elsa's vision, but small movements either side tell her the team has followed suit.

"Over the past year, our guardians have fallen. Every city in our great country mourns its protectors, those blessed with incredible abilities who chose to devote themselves to a purpose. Realistically… we are the last of those heroes, and as my team and I took part in mourning those we lost, and the innocent people caught by villainous schemes, we were confronted with one singular fact: for all the power at our disposal… we are still mortal. We are finite. The Age of Heroes, started by the White Witch, was suddenly and ruthlessly ended by one ancient entity… and there was a moment when he had me by the throat that I realised… we could die, not having _lived."_

Elsa takes another deep breath, and steels herself for what is to come. They may understand, they may not… but the decision had been made. "The Age of Heroes is over, and with that in mind, the time has come for the Line to stand down."

As expected, the group of reporters explode into a whirlwind of barked questions and machine-gun camera flashes, with pens and fingers poised to type.

"You're retiring?!" yells a woman from the _Arendelle Herald,_ "but who will protect this city from all the criminals?!"

Elsa searches the crowd for the woman, and finds her near the front; a blonde, dark blue-eyed woman in a smart light blue casual suit, with an old-fashioned pen and notepad. Elsa smiles, and speaks every word with clear purpose.

"Arendelle's heroes will protect it, as they have been here all along. They just never knew they were heroes."

"Who?"

"The people of this great city.

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _(One day later)_

 _._

 _._

* * *

.

.

" _To put it simply, the power to protect this city was never ours. It was yours. No magic, no technology, nothing can match the power of a city united in one voice. We were merely the voice personified. The hand of the people."_

 _._

 _._

* * *

" _Hey, I gotta ask you something."_

Hiccup casts a slow look at the camera situated just before the door to his personal vault, the one pointed directly at him, red light blinking away. He smirks to himself, and subconsciously tugs at the sling carrying his cast-covered arm. He knows what's coming.

"Fire away, Heather."

Heather, being his personal assistant, close confidant, and extremely advanced artificial intelligence. She's also an observant little shit, and occasionally suspicious.

" _Why haven't you hit the regen-beds? You know they'd heal your arm in a few hours."_

Hiccup stops before the seven-foot tall steel door, one thick enough to stop a tank shell at point blank range. "Tell you in a moment." He reaches for the biometric reader at the door's right, and a green line traces up and down his fingers.

" _Handprint says it's you. Wanna give me the rest?"_

"Authorisation code: Hiccup-five-seven-seven-alpha-sierra. Security word of the day is ' _alpaca'."_

" _Nailed it. Door's opening. Watch your arm."_

Hiccup dutifully stands aside whilst the huge door swings open with all the speed and grace of a sloth. Inside is your average vault, outfitted with laser-triggered alarms, automated tranquiliser-dart turrets, electrified walls and sealed in a vacuum when locked. So, your average Haddock vault. He'd had it built to hide any items of world-ending potential, but there had been nothing of that level requiring such security… until the Line trapped Pitch in the gem.

Hence his visit to the vault - to lock that gem away for all time.

Pulling a flat rectangular box out from inside his sling, he steps inside the vault as the air rushes inside to fill the vacuum, just as Heather next speaks over the comms system. " _So, you were gonna tell me?"_

Hiccup presses his thumb against a steel rectangle on the far wall, labeled _001._ There's a quiet hiss as a drawer slides toward him in response. "All my life I've been rushing things. From building one gadget to the next, with no break. Always tinkering, always doing _something._ What Elsa said in the conference… it stuck with me, y'know? So this-" he gestures to the sling, before resting the box in the drawer "-is kind of a reminder that I need to step back, y'know? Take stock of what I've been missing."

" _Aha, now I understand. Well, not really, since I don't have arms."_

Hiccup chuckles to himself. "Don't worry - I haven't forgotten your synthetic body."

" _Good, 'cause being a disembodied A.I. is cool and all, but I wanna try bipedal motion_ sometime _soon. Maybe even learn how to flip the bird."_

"I get it, I get it," Hiccup says amid chuckling, and taps at the same point on the drawer face he did before. "Okay - delete all access codes for unit zero zero one."

The drawer closes, the hissing drowned out by Heather's incredulity. " _Um, what? That means no-one will be able to unlock it, not even you. I'll have to zap you if you try."_

"That's the idea." Hiccup's smile falls to a thin line, and all humour is swiftly driven away by a sobering air. "What's in this box… is something too dangerous to be in _anyone's_ hands. I can't risk anyone being able to open this unit, _especially_ me."

Heather sighs, as much as an artificial intelligence _can_ sigh. " _Okay. Deleting access codes, forever locking Evil MacGuffin away."_

"Thanks, Heather." Turning, Hiccup adjusts the strap of his sling away from the increasingly sore spot it had been resting against, and makes his way out of the vault. "So, what's the first item on the agenda?"

" _Well, Alistair Krei of Kreitech would like a meeting with you to talk about a project. He calls it Silent Sparrow."_

"Okay." The heavy door slides closed with a thud, and dull metallic clunks indicate the locks sealing. "Anything else?"

" _A woman called Astrid left a message. Something about a date you owe her?"_

The smile that had been banished a few minutes ago returns in full force, crinkling his eyes and dulling the pain in his arm. Astrid. No better way to embark on a new experience than a date with the only woman to ever turn him into an awkward wreck.

"Alright. Krei can wait. For now, I've got a date to get ready for."

* * *

.

.

" _The city will go on without us_

… _but I have two promises to make."_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _(Three days later)_

 _._

 _._

* * *

Merida calls it Angus. It's an old Harley Davidson she'd been restoring even before joining the Line, one of those motorcycles with the engines that shake the earth. Black and silver body, with handlebars higher than her shoulders, she'd been repairing and restoring it so, one day, she could take a long ride across the country.

Only, it had been sat in her garage for years. In the small amounts of time she'd been able to snatch in between being a _hero-on-call,_ she'd been able to practically rebuild it from scratch, but it had been gathering dust rather than tearing up the asphalt.

Until now.

Filled with an eerie, alien sense of peace she'd long forgotten, Merida sings an old Gaelic lullaby to herself as she polishes the gas tank, revelling in the anticipation of the wind in her hair.

Well, figuratively. Safety first - that's why her father's helmet hangs from the handlebars.

" _We now return to our current affairs segment,"_ the radio perched on the large, red tool trolley blares out at her, " _where Iago is discussing the recent press conference held by the Line, with Phil Faun, retired superhero trainer and owner of Zero to Hero Fitness Gym."_

Iago's a loudmouthed arsehole, in Merida's opinion, but Phil's alright. She'd crossed paths with him a few times; she'd even trained in his gym. Always had his neck on straight.

" _So, Iago, you're saying the Line is being selfish, that they're putting themselves over the city?"_

" _Right!"_ Iago yells in his customary caustic voice that makes Merida want to punch him in the face. " _I just can't believe they wanna retire! They can't just drop it because they 'want to experience life'! She's saying we're worth less than-"_

Iago's rant is cut short by a distinct Italian-American dialect, and a smile tugs at the corners of Merida's lips as she moves to polish the handlebars.

" _Okay, first, you're an idiot."_

" _Excuse me?!"_

" _You heard me. Snow Queen ain't saying we're not worth protecting. Look, I've had a lotta heroes walk through my door, and they're always full of this zeal to defend their streets… but they take on too much, and after a while, they get burned out. Jaded. They stop caring - and let me tell you, a superhero that stops caring is a superhero one step away from a supervillain - and_ we _make it worse."_

At this, Merida hesitates, and looks up at the radio. A sense of guilt twinges in her heart like strings plucked by Phil's words; he's not wrong. Sure, she knows which side of the right-wrong divide she's on, but as her career had gone on, she saw it as more of a chore than a responsibility. Apathy had been settling in.

" _So you're saying the Line could be supervillains, and it'd be our fault?"_

" _Idiot-ago, whatever's in your brain is coming outta your mouth with no gateway. No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying we, as the public, are getting lazy. Complacent. Lemme ask you and your listeners a question: you heard of Kitty Genovese?"_

" _No, she some kind of hero?"_

" _Like I said: brain, mouth, no gateway. Kitty Genovese was a young girl who was assaulted, and minutes later murdered, all in view of dozens of people overlooking the attack. No-one called the cops, no-one went to help her. Know why?"_

Iago says nothing, which is a miracle in itself.

" _S'called the Bystander Effect. No-one called the cops or helped 'cause they assumed someone else was gonna do it."_

" _So you're saying-"_

" _What I'm saying, if I'm saying_ anything _, is Moonlight, Snow Queen, Red Arrow and Night Fury have been doing so much for so long, we've been taking them for granted. We don't call the cops if we notice something fishy 'cause we just assume Snow Queen's gonna come out of nowhere and save the day. We do nothing when an honest shopkeeper's gettin' robbed 'cause we're expecting Red Arrow to kick down the door and stick a taser arrow in the bad guy where the sun don't shine."_

Merida snorted a quick chuckle; she actually did that, once. The perp couldn't sit down for a week.

" _To me, what Snow Queen's saying is the power to keep our streets safe ain't just theirs - it's ours. 'Cause trust me, a lot of cities suddenly found out what it's like to not have any heroes to watch over them."_

It's at that moment Merida decides enough is enough. The internet had been ablaze with discussions about Elsa's decision, both for and against, and though she'll always have time to hear Phil, it's not like he's treading new ground.

Even if he is right.

Straightening up, Merida walks over to the toolbox and switches off the radio, cutting short any half-baked and thoughtless rebuttals from _Idiot-ago._ Her head plays host to a mental checklist she ticks off with her fingers, from her protective leathers... to her bow and arrows.

Old habits die hard.

* * *

.

.

" _The first is this: I have no doubt there are, as I speak, individuals and organisations working to take advantage of our revealed faces. I strongly discourage you from attempting anything against us. If you think we are any less powerful out of our costumes than in, we will make you realise your error. So, I promise you this: if you try to harm us or our loved ones, you will regret your mistake for the rest of your life."_

" _Both seconds of it."_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _(One week later)_

 _._

 _._

* * *

"No fair!" whines one of the children, perching on the top of a massive snowdrift Jack had conjured over the basketball court a few blocks away from his apartment. "How come _you_ get Moonlight and we don't?"

"Because _I_ picked first, Jamie," retorts another, stood at his side. Locals call her Cupcake. Aggressive, intimidating and tomboyish at first glance, but a total sweetheart underneath. She also happens to rock a tutu.

Jack chuckles loudly as he rests his staff across his shoulders. "Who says it's a team game?"

Cupcake and Jamie both throw him a confused look. "It's not?"

"Nope." Jack's smile widens to an impish smirk. "I'm thinking…"

He ducks down and jams his staff into the snow, conjuring a bunch of snowballs with a wisp of white energy. Marking his targets, he yells, "Free-for-all!"

With a flick of the staff, the pile of snowballs shoot through the air. Yelps and squeals fill the court as the snowballs make contact, causing those not hit to dive for cover. Those hit immediately duck down and retaliate, and before long, snowballs are flying every which way amidst squeals and laughter.

Darting around the chaos, Jack yells, "Alright, who needs ammo!" whilst trailing his staff behind him, conjuring dozens of snowballs in his wake, and doing his best to dodge incoming fire. Easier said than done; Claude and Caleb are notoriously accurate, and there are a few times Jack narrowly avoids a faceful of snow.

Keen to avoid being the group's target _du jour,_ Jack summons a gust of wind to take him a few platforms up the nearby fire escape of Jamie's apartment block, and from there, perches on the safety railing to observe the war below.

This is what it's all about, in his mind. Children caught up in snowy escapades, playing together, filling the street with joy and mirth. Parents observing the battle from the sidelines, or their windows, with smiles on their faces. In half an hour he's felt greater satisfaction than a week of being Moonlight - all because of these kids.

The sensation of something vibrating in his pocket tickles at his thigh, and for a moment, he nearly falls off the railing in surprise. A feeling of embarrassment washes over him once he remembers what that _something_ is: the smartphone Elsa bought for him the day before. Clambering off the railing, he leans against it whilst pulling out the phone and peering at the screen - a text message.

 _From: Elsa_

 _Received: Today, 11.10 a.m._

 _Would you like to join me for dinner at my apartment tonight at eight o'clock? Xx_

Jack's smile widens, and he quickly taps out a reply.

 _To: Elsa_

 _Sent: Today, 11:11 a.m._

 _Sounds fantastic. I'll be there. X_

Cooking is Elsa-speak for _I'm ordering something from a fancy restaurant,_ as Jack couldn't cook worth a damn and Elsa never really had time to explore her culinary prowess. Of course, that had all changed.

His phone vibrates with a reply.

 _From: Elsa_

 _Received: Today, 11:13 a.m._

 _Great. I can't wait - but be warned, we may be skipping dessert ;)_

Jack's cheeks instantly blow up in a fiery red, as his eyes widen. His mind, thanks to Elsa's implication, switches off to the point that a highly accurate shot courtesy catches him completely unawares and smacks into the left side of his face.

One look, and all fingers point to Claude.

"Oh, you're gonna get it!" he yells down, grinning like a madman. Kid's an excellent shot. "Soon as I send a text!"

* * *

.

.

" _The second promise I make to you, the people of Arendelle, is this. We will not be resting on our laurels. We will not abandon you. We will be watching, ever vigilant. When darkness threatens you, we will vanquish it. When hate and malice darken your doorsteps, you will find us fighting back."_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _From: Jack_

 _Received: 11:14 a.m._

 _You're naughty. You just got me snowballed in the face. I'm gonna get you for that tonight. X_

Elsa's lips quirk into a lascivious smirk, half-nibbled by her teeth. Firing back a text with the words, " _Promises, promises,"_ she imagines all the ways 'dessert' is going to go down.

"So, when am I gonna meet your boyfriend?"

Stood in the half-decorated nursery, clad in once-white, now paint-splattered overalls, Elsa casts her sister a knowing look. Heavily pregnant, her hands massaging her purple sweater-covered swollen abdomen, Anna regards her with a one-eyebrow-cocked gaze and a teasing smirk.

"Soon. I do need to prepare him for you, after all."

Anna rolls her eyes and groans. "C'mon, 'sis, I'm not _that_ bad. Moonlight's fought off actual _demons_ , y'know."

Elsa cocks a hip, resting a hand upon it. Regarding Anna with a raised brow, she says, "Yes, he has. However, you are an overly-protective pregnant little sister with mood swings and a vetting procedure."

Anna gapes and scoffs, as though Elsa has mortally wounded her integrity. "I do _not_ have a vetting procedure."

"You do."

"I do not."

"You really do."

"Gimme an example."

Elsa adopts the epitome of deadpan. "You vetoed Dylan because he preferred cats over dogs."

"That's because dogs will fight off burglars, and cats will just watch them steal everything and ask them for food."

"You chased off Eugene before he even had a chance to say hello."

Anna rolls her eyes. "Well, his grades weren't anywhere near what I would call _date-my-sister_ average. Astronaut or bust."

"You punched Dagur in the face when he asked me to prom."

"That guy was crazier than a bag of cats. I was doing you a favour. Plus he smelled of overboiled cabbage and damp cotton, mixed with more Axe spray than a fraternity house. I wanted to make sure you still had a _nose."_

Elsa quirks her lips and cocks her head to the side and back. "Point taken. However, I have only just reconciled with him - I don't want you scaring him off."

Anna throws up a hand of surrender whilst the other cups her belly as though it's about to fall off. "Okay, okay. I'll tone it down."

"Thank you."

"So, how's the sex life—"

Elsa's eyes widen as her cheeks flush a fiery red. "Anna! We're supposed to be painting your nursery, not discussing matters that are none of your business!"

Keen to avoid further discussion on the topic - Anna is like a dog with a bone, sometimes - Elsa covers the room in three strides and picks up the pot of apple-green paint, trying her best to ignore the feeling of her face being on fire and the fact her _sister_ just asked about her sex life.

 _It was amazing prior to the fall of the Line, and will be amazing again, in point of fact, but that's neither here nor there,_ she thinks.

"So, I wanted to ask—"

"If this is a less-than-subtle inquiry into Jack's endowment, you can stop right there," Elsa drawls, applying the paint in smooth, long strokes.

"No, but I'm totally gonna ask you about that later. I meant to ask: how's the team taking it? Retirement, I mean."

Elsa's strokes pause, and she turns over her answer in her mind. "Surprisingly well," she says slowly, as though not quite believing her own words. "I think at one stage we all thought we'd be doing it forever, but then Pitch happened. Red Arrow seems… _relieved._ Moonlight is happier than I've ever seen him."

"And Night Fury?"

"His reaction is the most surprising of all, Anna. I called him yesterday to ask how he was… and he said the strangest thing. He'd gone on a date with someone, and they're already planning their second. He _thanked_ me. He said it gave him time."

"I suppose that's the greatest gift you've all been given," Anna muses. "Now you have time."

"Yes. Time." Elsa gives her a sister a meaningful look. "I have to catch up on so much I've missed, and now I have the chance to do it."

"D'aww, _stahp."_ Anna waves a dismissive hand, but in the second before she looks away with a bashful smile, she is visibly moved. "Don't you get me all weepy. Seriously. It's not pretty and it never ends."

Elsa smiles to herself. Bending down to rest the brush on the rim of the pot of paint, she glides over to her sister's side. Taking Anna's hand, she strokes circles into her knuckles. "Thank you for being patient with me."

Anna's face cuts into a frown - one overcome with emotion, and with a cracking voice, murmurs, "Thank _you_ for coming back to me."

The two sisters remain like that for some time, with Anna parked on the bean bag clutching Elsa's hand. So much Elsa wants to say - and there's an irresistible urge to let it all pour out along with the tears threatening to well in her eyes.

Anna lets out an involuntary sniff, and throws her head back to blink away her own emotion. Oh, great," she croaks, "now I'm all weepy. I warned you. This is all your fault."

Elsa's giggle lights up the room, doing an excellent job of chasing away the lump in her throat. "I'll get us some tissues."

Squeezing Anna's hand one last time, Elsa hurries out of the nursery, her sister's call of, " _Don't take too long, you're all mine until seven and I wanna make the most of it!"_ on her way to the bathroom. Elsa's lips, if it were possible, curve into a smile that reaches her eyes.

All the time in the world.

* * *

.

.

" _When evil marches upon your streets, we will be there… holding the line."_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 **7/7**


End file.
